


The Four Seasons.

by Discontinuous Qualia (Sechzehn)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Attends Shujin Academy, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Coming of Age, Figure Skater!Yoshizawa Sumire, Implied Sexual Content, Incorrect Depictions Of Figure Skating, M/M, Unprotected Hand Holding, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 40,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27089416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sechzehn/pseuds/Discontinuous%20Qualia
Summary: A voice hums from outside."... sunny, rainy, cloudy, all four seasons…"It's something private, something his ears shouldn't be privy to but that a part buried deep inside of him knows. Standing among old grey floor tiles a boy in the same uniform as him looks at the sky, his song a prayer that gets lost in the wind.Amamiya Ren has a dream: becoming a musician whose songs touch people's hearts. He's devoted his own life to it, but now that he's on limited time, stagnation and boredom caused him to fall out of love with music.Akechi Goro has no dreams and is not interested in getting one. Days pass in his life as a dull sequence, but then a motif from the past haunts him like a ghost. And he's determined not to let it get in the way of his peace.It takes just a song on a bright spring morning to set in motion the record of their story.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist, Onesided Yoshizawa Sumire/Amamiya Ren, Very background RyuAnn Yutaba and MakoHaru - Relationship
Comments: 18
Kudos: 82





	1. Spring - Awakening.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally meant to be a part of this year's Shuake Big Bang but things didn't go as planned (when do they?) so here I am, too late and with a story that has the word count of a small novel. This is the first longfic that actually sees the light of the day and the longest thing I've ever written: it very likely won't be one of the best things you'll ever read, but I'm extremely proud simply for the fact that I made it this far.  
> As for the story itself, I really gave it my all. I used all my musical knowledge so you might find some technical lingo sprinkled here and there, but the story explains it (and when it doesn't... Google is your best friend as it was mine, since many things were covered in a thick layer of dust). You can consider this an ode to music that it's like, 50 years old, but that never aged a day in my heart (yeah, sappy, I know). I tried to write something that fits a precise soundtrack (which you can find [here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/28fPbo3EkbjkCAENi0SzcT?si=m8XCo5pjRyq9ZwB8YoM-IA) ) but I hope it doesn't look too clichéd in some points (life it would be simpler if full of clichés, but also a lot less fun)
> 
> Last but not the least. I need to say tons of "thank you"s to tons of people. First and foremost, my beta reader, writing teacher, moral and emotional support @saikowrites (Go read her stories and you definitely WON'T be disappointed) who encouraged me through all my "my writing suck", "what am I even trying to do", "I will never be able to finish this." A huge thank you goes to @Lia_404 who acted as an incredibly patient moral support (and otamatone memeish songs dispatcher, which fueled me to survive desperation) , to @scarletchidori and that evil demon lord who is my best friend, since they acted like my proofreaders despite the abyssal length of all this, and to Mike, who made "remember that you have to write" my new "memento mori."

安い夢に遊ばれ こんなとこに来た

_yasui yume ni asobare konna toko ni kita_

I played around with the shallow dream, and found myself here

この命の無目的さに 腹をたてるけど

_kono inochi no mumokutekisa ni hara wo tateru kedo_

But I’m upset at how purposeless my life feels  
  
_[We’ll be alright - RADWIMPS]_ _  
_ _  
_ _  
  
_

A voice calls for him.  
  
It’s slightly gruff and drenched in sorrow in the way it sings a melody that pierces through strata of skin, flesh and bone to reach his very core. It leaves a stinging sensation in his eyes as if the pain is seeping through the shapeless music to become his own. It belongs to no face, no body, just a distant shadow in the haze of a dream.  
  
“Hello" a sweet voice sing-songs. It’s so off-tune that it can belong to only one person. “Is there anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me.”

Bright spring sunlight and an even brighter smile fill his sight, both bleary but still somewhat tangible and - just like that - the dream gently shifts into a different reality. Living in a place with no neighbors is both a blessing and curse. He stretches with a movement that makes the bones of his back pop.  
  
“Not completely sure”he says with the barest hint of a smile in his sleep-heavy voice. “But nice quote, Ann.”  
  
“Pulled another all-nighter playing in the attic?”  
  
“Yeah,” he nods, “but nothing interesting came out of it.”

Ann’s blue irises soften together with her smile. “You don’t have to force yourself that much, you know? It’s not like not producing a new song every week makes you less talented.”  
  
Of course it doesn’t. Talent doesn’t bloom unless accompanied by strenuous and constant practice just as it doesn’t disappear if properly cultivated. A huff escapes from his lips. There is a certain _something_ he hasn’t quite figured out yet that impedes the flow of his music.  
  
“... you’re right. Thanks, Ann.” An easy smile forms on his lips. It’s not her fault, after all. “Did you hear from Ryuji about lunch?”

“Oh, about that. He texted me a moment ago that he won’t be able to come today. I think his coach wants to talk to him or something like that.”  
  
“I’m pretty sure he’ll come back boasting that he’s been selected as the new captain, but I guess that today’s just you and me?”  
  
Ann’s gaze falls to her feet and her hands slap together in a pleading gesture. “Actually… Shiho asked me if we could have lunch together.”  
  
“You don’t have to ask my permission” he chuckles.  
  
Blue irises look up, wide and bright. “But Ren…”  
  
“Don’t worry", he says with a gentle pat on her shoulder. "To be honest, I have a few recordings from last night I wanted to give another listen to, so I might as well make good use of lunch break.”  
  
At least this partially solves the problem of his part-time shifts packed week. Given how Futaba would accept the challenge of hacking into the database of an international research facility in three seconds flat, he should really try and stick a banana in Sōjiro's microwave to see if it reverses into a fractal structure. 

"Ann, are you–" Suzui politely bows with a bounce of her ponytail. "Oh, hello Amamiya-kun." She rubs her arm with a hand. "I'm really sorry for stealing Ann but the volleyball team is aiming for nationals this year and the practice plan is really busy so I wanted to–" 

"It's no problem, Suzui-san, we'll all be glad if there's going to be one more promotion to celebrate during the year." 

"Oh no, I'm not–"

Ann's smile assumes a blindingly bright quality, just like the sunlight illuminating the classroom. "Aw, you're too modest, Shiho!" 

A chuckle. "Really, no need to worry about me" he says and rummages through his bag for the familiar shape of his headphones to show them with a smile. "I already have a plan B. Go ahead and enjoy your lunch."

Solitude sometimes is the best food for his creativity. Getting away from the happy chit-chatter that fills the classroom and the hallways is some sort of sacred ritual: the unnecessary noise fades away with every step he climbs and his thoughts get louder, clearer. 

The delightful silence of the third-floor stairs is a mystery. Shujin Academy's own peculiar sound is a disharmonious yet lively melody that no amount of soundproofing is able to completely shut outside, but that dark and dusty stairway is quiet, so much that the slightest hum of his voice would resonate among the grey concrete walls that separate him from the natural music of the outside world.

His steps reverb in a faint echo and the old metal door of the rooftop comes into sight. A thin sliver of light fends the monochromatic floor with a white line. 

A voice hums from outside.

_"... sunny, rainy, cloudy, all four seasons…"_

It's something private, something his ears shouldn't be privy to but that a part buried deep inside of him knows. Standing among old grey floor tiles a boy in the same uniform as him looks at the sky, his song a prayer that gets lost in the wind. 

The metal door creaks behind him and a pair of russet eyes framed by chestnut locks glares at him. 

"… that was really good."

The boy looks at him like a deer in the headlights but his mouth twists into a smirk that elicits a light jolt from him. The owner of the voice walks forward in long strides to pass by him as if he's just one of the old rusty desks that populate the small terrace. 

"I'm sure the light music club will be delighted to know that. Now, if you'll excuse me–" 

"What was that song?" he blurts out. 

The stride comes to a halt but the mystery in front of him makes no sign of turning around. 

Silence. 

Four-four he counts, a longa. 

"I don't know what you're talking about.”

With a long, low moan the rusty door closes again. 

§

Shujin Academy is a sea of voices in the morning.

'I'm sleepy.' 

'Too much homework.' 

'How did the goukon go?' 

'There's a new place in Shibuya's underground mall–' 

'Maaan, I need to get a part-time job…' 

It's Shujin's unique sound. Different voices meddle into a cacophony that hovers above a mosaic of black and red uniforms. They all look the same, like this, even if he focuses on telling them apart. And in such a confusion where no sound, no image is different from the others, there's no way he'll find _him_. 

He can't forget what he heard.

"Oh, senpai! Good morning!" 

"Good morning, Amamiya-senpai." 

Two identical pairs of russet eyes greet him from several centimeters below. They both smile, one bold and bright, the other downcast and soft. 

"Good morning, Sumire-chan, Kasumi-chan."

Kasumi tilts her head to the side and frowns slightly. "You look tired, Amamiya-san. Are you sleeping properly? " 

"Knowing him, senpai has likely spent the night working on his music." 

"You got me, Sumire-chan." A tuft of hair ends up being tortured between his fingers. "I'm writing a new song." 

Kasumi nods. "I'm glad to hear that you finally got out of your slump. I'll eagerly await the final product. But speaking of compositions…" She turns her head towards Sumire with a smile, a mischievous light in her eyes. "Didn't you have something you wanted to ask Amamiya-senpai?" 

A flush colors Sumire's cheeks, her eyes fixed on the floor. "Uh, I… I don't think it's an appropriate time to discuss such a matter, Kas–" 

"Don't be shy, Sumire. You promised me, right?" 

Kasumi's hands gently hold her younger sister's shoulders in a way he assumes should be encouraging but that quite obviously looks like a means to prevent her from escaping. Sometimes he wonders if he really looks so unapproachable. 

"Is there something I can help you with, Sumire-chan?" 

The imperceptible nod he gets as an answer is given away only by the slight bounce of a ponytail. 

"Uhm… This september I'm going to take part in the regional ice skating championship but…" Sumire looks up and her quivering gaze sharpens to settle in his own. Something heavy and cold sits on his stomach. "I've decided, senpai. I want to qualify for the nationals and then represent Japan in Grand Prix. So please." She bows deeply and stray locks of scarlet hair fall in front of her eyes. "Write a song for my free skate." 

Ren blinks and his mouth opens and closes like a fish desperately searching for water. Sumire still hasn't gotten up, her bow a perfect example of innate grace. She's struggling with all her might to achieve that aspiration she has just confessed so earnestly. 

_A sharp gaze looks down on him, red painted lips that quiver in doing so. "You can't live of dreams alone!"_

"I will be honored to help you."

Sumire looks up with sparkling eyes and a flurry of thankful words that gets a smile out of Kasumi as well flows from her mouth. 

It's a step forward for both of them, in a way. 

§

Someone very wise once said, in one of his biology textbooks, that humans are social animals and justified their words with a series of interesting bits of scientific data that all revolved around mirror neurons.

The sky outside the window is of a bright baby blue. A voice whose words don't reach his brain. 

The summary of that flurry of complicated words and numbers was that one’s growth was highly influenced by the surrounding environment, which explains the sense of restlessness that has been nagging him since the not so clever move of accepting Sumire’s request.  
  
Ushimaru’s glare is so intense that his uniform could combust from the sheer force of his will. Maybe it’s some kind of hidden ability that people develop as soon as they are invested with the title of “professor” or maybe he’s not so good at feigning interest in the scribbles about the Edo Period on the blackboard.  
  
Ryuji would probably say that he’s a one-track mind kind of guy, but it’s more like a physiological need that manifests as the sight of white letters twisting into the delicate lines of a score. One slip of the consciousness and there’s no more gruff voice speaking of the morals of the shogunate, just the faint echo of six strings that follows the lines only he can see.

_"Rainy, sunny, cloudy… All four seasons…”_

The weather repeats itself but possesses an intrinsic unpredictability. The seasons, on contrary, follow the inevitable pattern determined by rules that would surely cause him a headache, if he were to delve into them. Maybe there’s no real meaning in that utterance of words he stumbled into but his fingers ache for metal strings that yield and mold like clay under his will and he just can’t leave them be.  
  
It’s been so long since he last longed so deeply for music.

§

A voice announces the imminent arrival of the train bound to Oshiage. He leans on the grey tiled wall to face the tracks and avoid Makoto's pointed glare. 

“Ren, I know that Japanese history is not the most interesting subject in the world but could please at least try and feign interest? The teachers don’t pay mind to Ushimaru's complaints since you do very well during classes and tests, but I think that Kawakami-sensei is close to her limit.”

“But I _do_ feign interest” he shrugs with a defeated sigh. “I have no idea of how he’s able to tell that I’m thinking about something else.”  
  
Makoto’s lips curve into the gentler smile that preannounces one of her usual chastisements. “Ren, I don’t know how to put this but… You kind of, well, shift into another plane of existence when you think about music.” She stifles a chuckle behind a thin hand. “You're an open book when it happens."

"I have stuff to work on" he says like it explains everything that’s going on in his head.

"Oh, you mean the song Yoshizawa-san requested?" 

"I guess." 

Makoto cocks an eyebrow. "You guess?"

Red irises shadowed by dark, long lashes stare at him without batting, inquire for a real answer. He can't win against her 'out-with-the-details' look, a secret weapon whose might is second only to Ann's puppy eyes. But he shouldn't consider this a loss if he isn't hiding anything scandalous in first place. 

"I heard a student of our school singing on the rooftop and it inspired a new song."

It's stupid now that it's out in the open, like he’s the heroine of some low-quality shoujo manga that has fallen in love at first sight with her mysterious senpai. 

"I'm glad that you found something that renewed your inspiration. Though I have to admit I'm curious."

"About what?" 

Makoto chuckles again. "Well, you said no to every single person at the auditions for a singer. This mysterious student must have what you've been looking for if their voice had such an impact."

The idea of delving into the details of his own slump with someone sparks a bitter taste in his mouth that makes it difficult to talk. It's not like Makoto or the others are at fault but there's no point in asking for help for something only he can solve. They all already have their own fair share of problems, after all. 

Makoto moves a lock of auburn hair behind her ear. "Did you see them?" 

It was hard not to. He blinks. "He wasn't the most sociable person, but yes. He's about the same height as me but with light brown hair and reddish eyes."

A violent shiver shakes Makoto's small frame and color slightly drains from her face. A frown settles on her brow. "Did he speak in a weird way? Like he was insulting you without actually being rude."

The oddly fitting description makes laughter bubble up from his chest, but he swallows it down. He nods without thinking. 

"... Akechi Goro."

"Huh?" 

"The person on the rooftop. It's probably Akechi Goro" Makoto whispers with a surreptitious glance to the students around them. 

His head snaps towards Makoto. "Do you know him?"

"We're in the same class. He's very popular because of his good looks and grades, but he's also very… _well_."

The only superstition he's fond of is Stevie Wonder's but an ominous feeling clings to him like a slimy hand caressing his back. "... Is he some kind of delinquent?"

"No, nothing of the sort but… As you said he's not very sociable. He doesn't really talk with anyone in class and he's generally a very cold person when spoken to." 

"The train bound to Shibuya is in arrival on Track 1."

A honk and a light illuminates the dim tunnel where the tracks rest. With a screech of metal on metal, the gray train comes to a halt and a flurry of people flows out from its doors. He pushes himself from the wall.

Makoto's thin hand stretches as if to reach him. "Ren, I’m not sure it’s a good idea to–" 

"He's what we're missing, Makoto" he says with a cryptic smile that paints a frown on her face. “Have a little faith in me.”

He steps on the train and turns around. Makoto tries her hardest to show a sympathetic smile. He’s testing her patience. If this fantomatic Akechi is as difficult as she says involving him with the band is a risky move. But music is all about feeling, he can leave the task of being wise to someone else. 

"I'll take responsibility for this." 

§

“I could easily report you for stalking, you know.”  
  
“Theoretically speaking the rooftop still counts as school ground.”

“Ground that is a restricted area for students, as the regulations state.”  
  
“Then you’re not supposed to be here as well, _Akechi-senpai._ ”

“So? What problem do you have that it’s urgent enough to ruin my lunch break for an entire week?”

Ren crosses his arms on the sinuous curve of his guitar’s side to rest his chin on them. A tiny smile stretches on his lips. If perseverance is diabolic he’ll gladly rot in hell for not taking a ‘no’ as an answer. 

“I had no intention of being a nuisance” he says with a smile wide enough to make Akechi grit his teeth. “But if you had bothered listening sooner you wouldn’t have lost so much time. Don’t shift all the blame on me.”

“Well, now I’m here and I’ll listen if it helps get you out of my sight.”  
  
His smile widens. 

“Join my band, senpai.”  
  
“I refuse” is the immediate answer he gets. 

_Oh well, Rome wasn’t built in a day._

“I heard you singing, that time, and you're exactly what we need. "

Akechi smirks, so sharp that it might draw blood if he stared a moment too long. "I have no interest in the needs of a wannabe Hendrix and his little happy tree friends."

"I'd never dare to compare myself to a legend like him, but I do know my way around a guitar.” It would be quite problematic if he didn’t after a lifetime spent callousing his fingers until they ached too much to play any further. He pats the cream-colored body of his instrument and the strings answer to his call with a disharmonious echo. “Let me play you something, then. If you do, I’ll accept whatever answer you’ll give me.”  
  
The old rusty desks abandoned against a wall creaks under Akechi’s weight. Russet eyes look down at him with a sneer, like he’s a child on the verge of proudly playing a song on his toy guitar. “Fine then, as long as you stop bothering me.”

He straightens his back and props the cream-colored body of the instrument in its correct position. The perfect fit of its side on his thigh and the way his hand wraps around the thin neck are reminiscent of old but happy memories. He’s gonna wipe the floor with that face.

E, A, D, G, B ring in a familiar sequence under his fingers. Making sure it’s always properly tuned is a habit he can’t quite shake off: an instrument will spare its owner the same treatment they do. For most people, an acoustic guitar can’t produce anything special since the collective imaginary likes to depict it as the item one brings to the beach to woo boys and girls alike. But there’s a quiet kind of beauty in simple things that no one seems to notice and that he’s quite possessive of, like it’s part of his own discerning taste.

Three major chords and a minor, a rookie thing he can play with eyes closed. But a song doesn’t need a high technical difficulty to serve its purpose, sometimes it's all about making it his own, putting the right emphasis on each strum. And just like the song title says, at this moment he's just a creep that sarcastically pours out his feelings for someone who doesn't feel anything but disgust for him. 

_"... in a beautiful world. I wish I was special."_

The pick slips slightly from between his fingers but he manages to steady his hold for the chorus. It's a voice unlike any other, the one Akechi Goro has been gifted with. Which is very obvious, given how every voice is different, but russet irises gaze with intent at the way his hand swings with each chord and it’s like a new song is forming, completely their own. 

The last G major hangs in the air between them. Akechi, still on the old rickety desk like he always belonged there, looks in the distance, beyond the sight of the rooftops of Aoyama-Itchome and the busy streets of Tokyo, gaze so lost that Ren’s own voice fails him.

"That song you're so curious about… you won't find it anywhere."

"What do you mean?" 

"It doesn't exist" Akechi says like he's swallowed something particularly bitter. "It's just a motif in my head." 

"I see." The metallic strings clang under the pressure of his fingers. Hesitating is not like him, it won't bring him anywhere. "If that's the case… I want to bring it to life."

Laughter rises in the warm spring air, with a hint of haughtiness that contrasts with the somewhat dignified aura Akechi exudes, just like the light in his eyes does with the sharpness of his smile. 

"You really have nothing better to do, huh?" 

A witty retort is ready on the tip of his tongue but the bell sing-songs the end of the break and Akechi hops down from his seat with a creak of rusted metal to smooth down the wrinkles on his uniform. 

"I'm pretty bored lately, so I'll be waiting for you at the end of the lessons, _Hendrix-kun_."

And just like he did on their first meeting, Akechi Goro disappears behind the old door without sparing him another look, as if he wasn't guilty of igniting the spark of his inspiration after so long.

§

All things considered, the reaction could have been worse.

“You! You stole my yakisoba bread!” Ryuji shouts, finger pointed towards Akechi. 

Haru, as composed as ever, eyes them from the chair she’s sitting on but suppresses her legitimate shower of questions. On the other side of the room Ann, perched upon a huge amplifier, fails miserably in hiding a snort behind her hand at the sight of Ryuji’s indignant face and frantic swinging of drumsticks.

“Oh, I see.” Futaba adjusts her glasses with a dramatic flair that suspiciously reminds him of a character he saw in their last visit to Akiba. “You must be ‘Akechi Goro’.”

He drops his schoolbag on the wooden floor with a sigh.“You have a weird concept of ‘no more hacking into Ren’s phone’.” Maybe he should really use her limited collection of the latest Neo Featherman series as a hostage to protect his privacy.

Makoto clears her voice in that way that makes the whole morning assembly at school go silent in a matter of seconds and Ren thanks his past self for sharing his intentions with her. “Sorry for the unusual welcome, Akechi-kun, but we weren’t expecting guests. Though I have to admit that I’m already aware of the reason why you’re here.”  
  
“Haru blinks. "Do you know him, Mako-chan?”  
  
“Yes, we’re in the same class. But.” A piercing glare sends a shiver down his spine. “I think Ren-kun is the most appropriate person for explanations.”  
  
_Note to self: always warn Makoto before doing something impulsive._

“I’d like Akechi-senpai to join us as our singer.”

The silent figure propped against the doorframe meets his gaze with a quirked eyebrow and the vague hint of a smirk. For once rumors aren’t exaggerations of reality.  
  
“I refuse” Ryuji says with a scowl. “I don’t want that prick in our band.”

A frown grazes Ann delicate features. “Ryuji, stop being petty.”

“C’mon Ann, don’t you see he’s here just to make fun of us?”  
  
“Uhm." Haru says with a thin voice. "I don’t mean to invalidate anyone’s judgment but… how about we listen to Akechi-kun before taking a decision?”  
  
Makoto nods briefly, a grateful smile on her lips. “Haru is right. Would you mind singing something, Akechi-kun? We can play a song you know, if it helps.”  
  
Five sets of eyes follow the confident stride that guides Akechi in front of the microphone like he always belonged there. Which is odd, considered how reluctantly he accepted his proposal, but not entirely nonsensical: a mystery to crack, indeed. 

"Is Knights Of Cydonia alright with you? Or you wouldn't be able to keep up, Amamiya?" 

Ryuji grits his teeth with the look of someone who is willing to resort to violence if the situation really requires so and Ren lifts a hand to stop him. He doesn't back down from a challenge and Akechi has thrown down the gauntlet. 

A smile fights his way on his lips. "Fine by me." 

He slides on the shoulder strap and the familiar weight of his electric guitar grounds him a little more. Its horned cherry colored body shines of a bloody hue in the warm light of the practice studio. In front of him Makoto eyes him with a nod and plays her usual warm up riff on her bass, followed with a precision that only habit and practice can grant by a steady rhythm of Ryuji's drums. Futaba's keyboard inserts herself with a few chords and settles for a low synth sound.

The tube amplifier comes to life with a distinct crackle, a greeting that steadily transforms into the recognizable sound of the six strings. That very act always fills him with a warmness that makes his fingers tingle, as if it were the re-establishment of the bond between two lifelong lovers.

"Ready when you are, _senpai_." 

"Took you long enough, Hendrix-kun."

The smirk on Akechi's face is mirror of his own. 

_One. Two. One, two, three, four._

The keyboard hums. 

_E minor. F sharp minor. G. G. A. B._

_Repeat the sequence from the start._

The voice comes in, low and scratched. The way Akechi closes his eyes, hands holding the microphone's stand and mouth barely grazing its surface, holds a sensuality that has goosebumps rising on his skin. 

The rhythm changes and his guitar rises its voice, sings of heroes of justice horseback riding across the deserts of Mars, picks up with alternating plectrum to play their impetuous charge just to quiet down and leave the stage to the other instruments. The narration begins. 

Akechi Goro doesn't sing like he's a space cowboy delivering criminals to the law. Akechi Goro is the rebel of the town, the presence that closes mouths shut in the saloon just by entering. He follows his own path and stops in front of nobody. 

" _How can we win when fools can be kings?"_

The words hide a plea to the world and the way the voice that sings them is the voice that quivers and rasps in desperation to say "this is something that even I can't face alone". And so they answer. Four instruments join in a choir together with everyone's voices and they take part into a rebellion. 

_"No one's gonna take me alive, the time has come to make things right."_

His guitar grows faster, his fingers burn and the pick plucks the strings in a crescendo that becomes the roar of cavalry. They _are_ the knights of the Cydonia desert. 

The song ends with a hit of drums and Ann springs up from her seat as if some implicit signal triggered her gesture. Blue eyes dart among them to settle on Akechi's lean figure. 

"That was… amazing!" she beams. "Your english was very good, Akechi-senpai. Did you live abroad?" 

Akechi's shoulders rise briefly in a shrug. "No, I'm just used to how western music sounds." 

Ann's gaze lights up in the way that preannounces the typical flurry of questions she reserves to the things that pique her interest but Makoto stops her by clearing her throat. 

"I think we all agree that Akechi-kun is very talented but I'll ask this for the sake of formality: are we all fine with him joining us?"

Ren nods without a moment of hesitation, and everyone but Ryuji imitates the gesture. Five sets of eyes stare at the scowling face of his friend with a silent question. 

The scowl on Ryuji's brow deepens. "... fine, as long as he's not bullshitting us."

"Actually, Ryuji makes a good point here", Makoto says like it's the most unexpected thing in the world. Her stern gaze turns to a yawning Akechi. "It goes without saying that, even at a non-professional level, being in a band requires a considerable amount of time, money and dedication. You're a third-year, Akechi-kun, so you should consider the impact it might have on your studies."

It's very Makoto taking the risk of scaring away a potential new member of their group by saying something so responsible but it's not like she's in the wrong. 

A sharp smirk forms on Akechi's lips. "I have no plans of continuing my studies after graduating. So you could say that I'm bored as hell and with too much free time on my hands, Niijima."

A tense smile twitches on Makoto's lips and screams "danger" among red lights and warning signs. Ryuji's fiddling with the drumsticks comes to a halt. 

The sound of a fanfare comes from Futaba's keyboard. "New member: get!" 

Nerds will save the world. He'll gift her with the collector edition of Last Fantasy VII’s remake. 

Haru stands up from her chair next to Ann and extracts a piece of paper from her schoolbag. "Uhm, I know this might sound a bit sudden, but, since you now have a formation that includes a vocalist, I'd like to propose something interesting." 

Makoto's eyes soften. "There's no need to be so formal, Haru. You're our manager, after all." 

"Oh, sorry, I just thought that a bit of formality was necessary in this case", Haru says with a chuckle that leaves a kind smile on her lips. "An old friend of grandfather has renewed his live house in Shibuya and has announced a contest to celebrate its inauguration." 

A devilish grin spreads on Futaba's face. "Uhh, I definitely smell a rank-up quest here." 

"You're not wrong, Futaba-chan. It's specifically directed towards emerging bands, since the first prize will be the possibility of recording a five-tracks EP."

Ryuji jumps up with a jingling of cymbals. "What? Isn't that stuff expensive as hell?" 

Makoto nods. "For discographic industries an EP is a faster and more economic way to promote a band but yes, given how we struggle even with the rent of this place _it is_ out of our economic possibilities."

Ann scrunches her lips and nose and brings a hand to her chin. "Uhhh, I think I get what Makoto's trying to say."

"To make it short, it's a once in a lifetime opportunity for you and your little friends. Am I wrong, Hendrix-kun?" 

"It's Amamiya", Ryuji chides with a glare. 

Real life is not one the questionable Visual Novel Futaba likes to play. Infinite possibilities unfurl in front of him at every occasion and among these he can only choose the ones that take him closer to his dream. 

He closes his eyes. "I know this might be asking a lot from you but… I'd like us to participate."

§

**_Makoto_** _:_ I think that we need to discuss some details of the direction we're going to take as a band. 

**_Ryuji:_ ** Woah, Prez is texting during class 

**_Futaba_ ** _:_ Duhuhu, Ryuji, you fool. 

**_Haru_ ** _:_ Mako-chan is right, we should talk. 

**_Makoto:_ ** it's self study time, Ryuji. 

**_Makoto:_ ** But maybe _you_ have a valid explanation for using your phone now. 

**_Ann:_ ** Makoto 1 - Ryuji 0

 **_Ren:_ ** Let's all meet at Leblanc after you're done with club activities 

**_Yusuke:_** I would like a portion of Boss' curry, Ren. 

**_Ren:_** _@Akechi-senpai_ I'll text you the address

 **_Akechi-senpai_ **: Alright. 

§

A messy show of scribbled notes and black patches of graphite stares back at him. 

Writing a song for someone is a difficult task. Music has no set limits and, just like life, is open to infinite paths if someone doesn't trace a neat line between "dos" and "don'ts." 

By putting her trust in him Sumire has granted him both an honor and a challenge as a musician.

Among the vast sea of possibilities stretching in front of him the only certainty he firmly holds onto is that, whatever the result of his songwriting is, it must be something that allows the complete and wholehearted expression of Yoshizawa Sumire's being. 

But who she _really_ is remains a collage of memories faded with time. 

"Three years…"

Morgana's content snout greets him in unlocking his phone. The band's chat is silent but his thumb presses on the "new chat" icon to select Yoshizawa Sumire's contact. 

**_Ren:_ **I need to talk to you about the song. Can we meet next week? 

The text is branded as received but with no sign of having been read. With no clues to base his work on, trying to compose something would be the same as looking for a needle in a haystack with his eyes closed. 

His book of Japanese History emanates an ominous aura from the table. He does have to write that essay for Ushimaru… 

"Kid, you have guests" Sōjiro's deep voice grumbles from downstairs. 

He climbs down the rickety wooden steps in automatic. His mind wanders to the kitchen and the curry he has to heat up to quell Yusuke's ever-growling stomach but his feet stop abruptly in front of the sight of a Shujin uniform surmounted by a mop of light brown hair. 

Akechi greets him with his usual smirk. "Quite the unusual place to live in. But I should have expected no less from a weirdo like you, Hendrix-kun."

Sōjiro shoots them a look that elicits a sigh out of him. Blaming his perplexity would be hypocritical. 

"This is Akechi-san. Aside from being the pot that calls the kettle black, he's my senpai at school." 

The man's lips curl into the hint of a smile. "Always making new friends, huh?" 

Much to his chagrin, Sōjiro speaks only the truth in describing him as a weirdo that attracts other weirdos like moths to a flame. There's no other way he would have found Akechi among Shujin's vast student body, after all. 

"Well, I'm Sakura Sōjiro, but everyone calls me 'Boss'. Take care of this kid." 

Akechi limits himself to a polite nod that gains him a satisfied huff from the man. 

"The shop's still open. Take him upstairs, Ren." 

He turns to the rickety climb to his room with and sighs at the mess that awaits them. "This way." 

The creaking of the wood fills the gaps between asynchronous steps and the attic welcomes old and new guests with the faint smell of dust, coffee and spices, the pile of books he still hasn't put away after coming back from school, his guitar sleeping on the bed in a mess of balled up papers and discarded scores. 

"This place is a real rathole, Amamiya." 

Ren rummages a hand through his hair with a chuckle. "I can't say you're wrong, but it's not that bad once you get used to it." 

The biology and English textbooks find their place next to their literature and modern Japanese companions, flanked by a framed photo of him, Ryuji and Ann at the cultural festival of their first year and the figurines of Decarabia and Agathion Futaba has 'gifted' him with. 

"Oh? How can you manage to read the notes in this mess?" Akechi says with a vague hint of exasperation in his voice. 

He turns around and Akechi eyes his attempts at songwriting with furrowed eyebrows and a lightly scrunched nose. "This progression of notes is wrong, the G needs to be flat and you should switch the first two notes." 

"It was just an attempt. Someone commissioned me a song but I lack the necessary information to write."

Akechi's frown deepens and he deposits the sheet on the bed and crosses his arms. "Information? What else there is to know aside from the occasion the song's for?" 

"I don't wanna write something generic." The fiery determination in Sumire's eyes is an indelible scar into his mind. "I want to make the kind of music that allows the full expression of the person who commissioned it."

Akechi scoffs and averts his gaze like the sight of him is too much to stand. "I should have expected this kind of brainless sentimentality from you. But I suppose it's easy to have such a view on music when mommy and daddy pay for all the expenses." 

A small part of him, deep in his chest, bares its claws and fangs like a wounded animal in front of ignorance. Akechi doesn't know but talks like he does, talks like he understands nothing of the truth. Just like everyone else, he's not worth the hassle of an explanation.

"... It's not so simple", he mutters through gritted teeth. An exhale. "And you, senpai? What kind of music would _you_ like to make? Or you joined our band just to play cool with girls?" 

"I'm not interested in that kind of crap. I'm just bored enough to be willing to stick with you and your stupid friends."

"Don't drop the tray, Ryuji!" 

"Hey, have a little faith in Me, will ya?" 

"It certainly is a feat that requires an uncommon prowess." 

"Inari, stop talking like a walking dictionary and move your ass. You're blocking the stairs."

"Language, Futaba." 

"It doesn't sound very convincing if you're laughing, Mako-chan." 

Ren glances at the staircase. "Oh, they're here. Senpai, help me move that table over there near the sofa."

Akechi closes his eyes and inhales deeply. "I'm not a goddamn mover, Amamiya" he growls but approaches the incriminated piece of furniture. "And 'Akechi' is fine." 

A smirk forces his way on his lips at the sight. "Thanks, _Akechi-senpai_." 

A glare. "Quit it with the 'senpai' thing."

"I was only being respectful."

"Cut the crap and give me a hand." 

The uneven ensemble of voices makes its way up the stairs and the lanky figure of Ryuji holding a tray of steaming cups and glasses comes into sight, followed by Ann fluffy twin-tails.

"Yo RenRen!" Ryuji says with a grin on his face. "Boss has prepared coffee for every–" His gaze stops on Akechi and his eyes widen. “Wait, what's he doing already here?" 

"Oh, hello, Akechi-senpai!" Ann waves with a bright smile.

Akechi nods in a sign of greeting. "Just 'Akechi' is fine, Takamaki."

The tray is placed on the wooden table with several clinks of porcelain and Ryuji drops himself on the sofa with a lack of ceremonies very different from Ann's innate grace.

Greetings in familiar voices fill the attic together with the rumble of chairs and delighted comments at the cinnamon cookies Haru has baked with the cooking club. The scene fills his chest with warmth. A dusty, silent room with a terrible thermal insulation has become a hideout, a studio, a home. 

"Mako-chan and I were thinking that we should define some details regarding our participation in the contest" Haru says with serious eyes. She takes out a notebook from her school bag to read a series of annotations neatly written on the last page. "Yamamoto-san, the promoter of the event, has sent me an e-mail with the data required for the registration to send as soon as possible." 

Ryuji gapes at Haru. "As soon as possible? Isn't the event, like, in two months?" 

Makoto nods. "You're right, but the sign up ends in a week."

He brings a hand to his chin. "I guess they'll accept a limited number of bands, so there's probably some kind of selection." 

Haru's delicate features morph into a light grimace. "Unfortunately yes, Ren. Aside from generic data as the name of the band, its members and the number of songs they intend to play, one of the requirements is a song in mp3 format as an attachment."

"But even if we gathered all of our savings we wouldn't be able to afford to reserve the studio." Ann grimaces. "We're already late with the rent for Haru's grandpa's place."

"Duhuhu, fret not, my dear party members" Futaba chuckles from behind her phone. "We don't need to rent a studio if everyone does their part." 

His gaze settles on the small red-haired gremlin sitting next to him. "Do you have something in mind?" 

An ominous grin spreads on Futaba' face. "We can record our parts separately to mix them together to get the final result. I have a very nice mic home, so we can use my room as our base and get things done in a whiff."

Makoto brings a hand to her chin and closes her eyes. "While not the most orthodox solution, it's the only chance we have, so I think we should give it a shot."

A relieved sigh accompanies everyone's enthusiastic nod. Something bubbles up in his chest and spreads to all of his limbs through the quickening of his heartbeat like electricity. 

"I think we should use Life Will Change for the sign up." 

Ryuji slams his fist on the table with a face-splitting grin. "Yeah! That stuff's totally us!" 

"I think it's a wonderful idea, Ren-kun" Haru says with a sweet smile. 

"I was actually thinking the same thing" Makoto chuckles. "It _is_ our most iconic song, after all." 

"Uhm, I don't mean to ruin the moment but… didn't Haru say something about a name?" 

Silence falls on the room. Seven pairs of eyes shoot to Ann, who reciprocates the gaze with a dumbfounded batting of lashes, and Ren sighs inwardly at the upcoming storm. 

"... Did I say something wrong?" 

"On the contrary, Takamaki. You pointed out something crucial." The creases of a frown appear on Akechi's brow. "Since this poor excuse of a briefing has begun I heard a lot of talking about an 'us' without a definite name. So the question is: did you have a name to begin with?" 

Futaba shrugs. "We never performed in front of an audience so… Nope. Nein. Niet. Non."

"We should brainstorm for one." He plays with a tuft of his hair but the smirk that stirs on his face betrays his coy act. "Can't steal the public's heart without a name they can scream. " 

Akechi cocks an eyebrow. "Confident, aren't we, Amamiya?" 

Futaba spares them a side glance and a devilish smile. "Save the unresolved sexual tension for when we're done with this stuff, guys." 

Ann raises her hand. "How about 'The Diamonds'?" 

"That stuff is no good for a rock band, Ann" Ryuji says with a shake of his head. "How 'bout 'The Deathskulls'?" 

Makoto shoots him a pointed glare. "Absolutely not, Ryuji." 

"I vote for 'Git Gud'" Futaba grins. 

Haru forces a patient smile. "Uhhh… I'm not sure it's a good idea, Futaba-chan." 

He lifts his empty cup of coffee like it's the Holy Grail itself. "Curry & Coffee" 

Ryuji's face is the perfect portrayal of the Surprised Pikachu meme with his mouth agape. "Ren, dude." 

Akechi sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "What a bunch of idiots…"

Makoto loudly clears her throat. "I think we should choose something impactful and original, but that also describes us as a whole." 

"Man, you make it sound like it's easy…" Ryuji says with a groan. 

"Mako-chan is right." Haru's tone is serious yet patient. "As of now we are nothing but phantoms: no one will talk about us if we don't give them a good reason to."

_I'm not a phantom, I'm in your face and I'm here to see it through…_

The words pop up in his mind as sudden as a spring shower together with the echo of that song they're all so fond of. Nobody knows them but they will when their music will rob them of their hearts. They just have to work hard to show them. 

"The Phantom Thieves Of Hearts." 

He turns abruptly towards Akechi, eyes wide and numerous questions on the tip of his tongue.

Makoto lets out a pensive hum. "That's a very good choice, Akechi-kun. But I think it might be a bit too long…" 

"Then, what about 'The Phantoms'?" The words escape from his mouth like they couldn't stand being held back any longer. 

An ecstatic light sparks in Yusuke's eyes, which would be a very positive thing if the dark circles and disheveled hair didn't paint him like one of those shady men that lurk in the back alleys of Shibuya when it's dark. 

"Wonderful! I can already feel the inspiration flowing!" 

"Akechi-kun, this is Kitagawa Yusuke, a second-year at Kōsei High" Makoto sighs. "You could say he's the… artistic director of our group." 

A corner of Akechi's mouth quirks up. "You have a surprisingly large staff for being a nameless band. 'The Phantoms' might be a suitable name, after all." 

If Makoto has caught the sarcasm in Akechi's voice she does nothing to show it. Her attention shifts to the rest of their dysfunctional group and she raises an eyebrow with the hint of a smile. "Judging from the looks on your faces I take it that you're all fine with this name, so yes, from now on we'll be known as 'The Phantoms'."

Haru beams at the words, Ann and Ryuji exchange an high-five and Futaba pats Yusuke's back with a lopsided grin. 

"Ggwp, Inari. You can go back to sleep." 

Yusuke glares at Futaba like she's just insulted one of Van Gogh's masterpieces. "Preposterous! I have no time for futile physiological needs when the doors of inspiration are now open in front of me!" 

Makoto takes out a mechanical pencil from her Buchimaru case. "I take it you'll take it upon yourself to work on a logo?"

"Of course, Makoto. I'll create a unique piece of art worthy of you all!"

Ann raises her hand with a smile that brightens her blue eyes. "Can I choose the outfits?" 

Haru claps her hands. "It's a wonderful idea, Ann! If Yusuke-kun lends us a bit of his talent in drawing the models we can do the sewing. " 

A light frown forms on Makoto's forehead. "I think it's a bit too early to…" A sigh with a smile. "Well, having a head start didn't kill anyone, so why not?" 

"Akechi" he calls. 

"What." 

"That song you were singing at school… let's bring it to the competition." 

Akechi scoffs. "You _really_ are out of your mind."

§

**_Yoshizawa Sumire:_ **Of course, senpai! Is Friday okay with you? 

**_Ren:_ ** Friday is perfect

 ** _Yoshizawa Sumire:_ **Wonderful! I'll send you the exact location! 

* * *

**_Makoto:_** _@Ren_ the next time you have something important to propose could you please avoid doing it at the end of the briefing? 

**_Ryuji:_ ** Dude, that idea was totally wild! 

**_Haru:_ ** It was quite sudden, but I think it might actually work, given how talented he and Akechi-kun are. 

**_Yusuke:_ **I'm looking forward to admiring the exquisite beauty of your lyrics, Akechi. 

**_Yusuke:_ ** Of course the same goes for Ren's music. 

**_Ann:_ ** _So today's poll is: which should be the second song for the contest?_

_ > Life Will Change (0 votes) _

_ > Take Over (0 votes) _

_ > Rivers In The Desert (0 votes) _

_ > Beneath The Mask (0 votes) _

**_Futaba_ ** _: @Akechi_ I sent you the songs' files

 ** _Futaba:_** Don't try to ignore me or my bots will fill you with spam until you regret it :) 

**_Akechi:_ ** Fine, I'll vote. 

**_Akechi:_ ** But don't raise your expectations about the other song. 

**_Makoto:_ ** Don't feel too pressured, we understand it was too sudden. 

**_Makoto:_ ** We can always use the poll's results to choose an eventual replacement. 

**_Ren:_ ** Can I vote two times? Mona wants to vote too, but he doesn't have opposable thumbs

§

"Thank you for coming here, senpai!" 

Sumire's smile is as bright as sunlight. 

He shakes his head. "No, I should be the one thanking you for accepting my invitation. You look… busy."

Sumire blinks and directs her gaze towards her outfit, a simple pair of black leggings with a rusty red hoodie. A smile stretches on her lips. 

"Don't worry, I wouldn't have accepted if I didn't want you here. I've already talked with my coach and the rink's staff, so everything's settled." A small, lean hand gestures towards the bench in front of them. "Let's sit here so we can talk while I prepare."

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to make much progress with your song."

Sumire's high ponytail shakes together with her head, bowed down in tying the laces of one of her skates. Her fringe covers her eyes. "You don't have to apologize, senpai. When you asked me to meet because of the song I realized that you take music as seriously as me and Kasumi do with our own dreams."

"You want to take part in the Grand Prix, right?" 

"Yes, but in order to do so I have to pass multiple selections, including the nationals." She gets up, tall and proud on her blades, and pulls off the hoodie from her head to reveal a simple black turtleneck. "It's been three years since we last went to school together in Matsuzaki and I'm sure that the fact that both of us changed a lot is at least partially responsible for the difficulty you're having in writing the song for my free skate."

A smile stirs on his face. "I wanted to write a song that helped you express yourself. You were so shy in middle school but now you've really grown up." 

"I'm so… _glad_ that you see me that way, senpai. I'm glad that you think that I've gotten stronger." A faint pink grazes her cheeks. "But, despite the appearances, I'm still a crybaby and I still rely too much on Kasumi. After transferring to Tokyo at the end of the first year of middle school I met so many incredible skaters and I realized that I have to hold my head high and set my eyes on what I want to achieve, or I'll never move forward."

The memories of the year he spent with Sumire and Kasumi, of those times when they used to come and watch him practice guitar with the light music club with stars in their eyes even if he was terrible are photographs held within his heart. But just like them they're nothing but a fragment of time that will never come back. 

"Are you still sure you want me to write the song?" 

"Of course, it's the reason why I asked you to come here, after all." She straightens her back and her irises are bright and firm. "Please, watch me, senpai. I'll introduce you to Yoshizawa Sumire."

He stands up and she strides towards a woman with dark hair cut in a bob. They exchange words he can't make out but Sumire takes off the covers from her blades and slides effortlessly on the ice. 

She glides around the perimeter of the rink like she's always belonged there and the gleaming blades cut countless eight figures with every graceful turn, accompanied by legs stretched at astonishing angles and arms spread like the wings of a soaring bird. Something in her posture changes and Sumire pushes herself at the center of the ice, under the lights of dozens of invisible spotlights to give a nod to a person he can't see. 

Silence fills the rink and everything freezes. Sumire closes her eyes and her shoulders rise with a deep intake of air that holds a solemnity that compels him to do the same. 

A sequence of high pitched piano notes vibrates through the place and, like a river whose waters are suddenly freed from stagnation, Sumire _moves_.

Every spin, every step sequence, every movement of her body is deliberate and yet, executed with a spontaneousness that only years of practice could have engraved in muscle memory. Her limbs arch and stretch with the gracefulness of the petals of a blooming flower, like no name other than 'Sumire' could befit her. 

A simple guitar riff backs up the piano and gives new intensity to the song. The push of the blades on the ice becomes longer, stronger and she jumps, high and decisive like the crest of a rising wave, to land on a single leg and a waltz on herself. 

There's the echo of the small, shy Sumire of their middle school days in the elegance of her movements but also a new, surprising strength in the way she defies gravity and the limits of her body with her jumps and spins. The childish sparkle in her eyes of when she used to talk about becoming the ideal figure skater hasn't been lost with time but, even if she may have not realized it yet, the reality is closer to the dream than she thought and she keeps moving forward to shorten that distance. 

He should press onward with the same courage. 

The music comes to a halt and Sumire, chest still heaving from exertion, skates towards him with a smile but directs her gaze towards someone behind him. 

"Did you see that, sensei? I managed to land the double Axel!" 

"Well done with memorizing the program, Sumire-chan" a feminine voice says. The dark haired woman from before walks towards the rinkside to stand next to him. "But your free leg was too lax during the landing. Also, the second step sequence needs to be more fluid, the various steps are still too disconnected. You've improved a lot your sit spin but remember to keep your weight on the ball of the feet during camel spins or you might hurt your ankle."

From his ignorant standpoint Sumire's performance has been amazing, from the choice of the song – tense, melancholic and determined at the same time – to the execution of every element of the choreography that had him watch her with bated breath. But Sumire just nods with pursed lips and an attentive nod. 

The woman lifts a finger. "The axel, if executed correctly, will net you a lot of points and will definitely add intensity to your exhibition. So we should focus on it, for today."

And so Sumire does. There's a nod to every patient correction her coach points out and she tries, tries no matter how many times she fails, no matter how hard the fall. Tenacious like the flower in her name, Sumire skates to realize her dream. 

"Does it hurt?" 

"Falling on the ice?" Sumire wipes the sweat from her brow with a towel and scrunches her face deep in thought. "Well, yes, at the beginning it hurts a lot. But falling is part of the process and in the end you learn how to do it and you stop minding the pain."

_Sumire's big eyes quiver and sparkle with unshed tears in the bright light that fills the light music club's room. "Your fingers… they look like they hurt. Is playing the guitar so painful?"_

_He stares at the red lines and calluses on his fingertips. They burn even if untouched. He smiles. "Hmm. Only at the beginning. But I don't mind because music is so much fun!"_

  
  


§

**_Haru:_ ** I gladly announce that we made it past the selections!

 ** _Haru:_ ** The concert will be held on July 7th at 7 PM.

 ** _Ryuji:_ ** For real?! 

**_Ann:_ ** I knew it! My polls never fail to bring good luck

 ** _Futaba:_ ** New stage: Unlocked! 

**_Makoto:_ ** I'm really glad it went well.

 ** _Makoto:_ ** This means we have little more than two months to finish the new song and properly learn it. 

**_Ren:_ ** I've been busy with a commission for a friend

 **_Ren:_ ** But I finished earlier than I programmed and worked on a thing

 ** _Ren:_** _Rivers_In_The_Desert_ Scramble_Ver. mp3_

 ** _Ryuji:_** Oh man, this rocks! 

**_Makoto:_ ** Are you suggesting to use this rearrangement for the contest? 

**_Ren:_ ** I wrote it so that nobody has to learn new parts if they're too busy/don't want to

 **_Futaba:_ ** So that's what you were up to when you drank 5 cups of Sōjiro's coffee in a single night 

**_Ann:_ ** You shouldn't overwork yourself, Ren! 

**_Haru:_ ** Ann is right. Please, take proper care of yourself!

 **_Makoto:_ ** Ren, don't push yourself too much for the band's sake. We're a team, okay? 

**_Ryuji:_ ** Dude, ya always work so hard it makes me wanna push myself harder, y'know? 

**_Ryuji:_ ** I'll come up with one hell of a drum part so you and Akechi do your thing with the new song, I've got ya covered! 

* * *

**_Akechi:_ ** I'm surprised, I didn't think you would make it this far. 

**_Akechi:_ ** But I always honor my commitments. 

**_Akechi:_ **Let's meet at Jazz Jin in Kichijōji on 6/2, 5 PM. Bring whatever material you have ready for the song. 

§

Looking up 'Jazz Jin Kichijōji' on the navigation app of his phone only resulted in an address and working time. No pictures, no recommendations, no reviews. If it weren't for the pre-recorded voice that informed him of his arrival at the selected destination he would have never noticed the small entrance in red bricks that led to a staircase. 

The underground room is all pristine wood and warm lights, with quiet, soft music in the background. Most of the tables are empty but the small stage set in a corner is filled with musical instruments and microphones, singing that the place hosts, with more or less regularity, live music sessions. 

There's a movement at the corner of his line of sight and a few blinks of eyes identify it as Akechi sitting at one of the tables with an arm barely lifted to catch his attention. He's oddly fitting with the unique atmosphere of the place, shoulders relaxed and his usual frown a little less deeper. 

"I didn't make you the type that likes this kind of places."

Akechi shrugs without sparing him a single glance. "I just happened to stumble into it a couple of weeks ago. I heard there was a singer today so I figured it could have been useful."

"You've taken the contest more seriously than I would have imagined." 

The words escape him with a chuckle but the expression on Akechi's face maintains a neutrality that doesn't betray any particular annoyance. 

"I think I told you that I always honor my commitments, so I will do my part at least until the end of this ordeal."

"Oh, I see you brought a friend with you, Akechi-kun" a rough voice from behind him says. Akechi's eyes widen ever so slightly and a tall man wearing a hat comes into sight with a smile. "It's the first I see you with someone. Are you here to listen to Lyn-san?" 

Akechi nods. "Yes, something like that." 

"Very well, then. May I take your orders?" 

"Two of today's drink, if Amamiya is alright with it." 

Ren jolts slightly on his chair and manages to produce a polite nod. It's a mystery what kind of drinks a jazz club might offer but they can't taste worse than some of Takemi-san's concoctions. 

"Why, _Akechi-senpai_ , I'm flattered" he coos in a high-pitched voice that gains him a pointed glare. 

"Don't get ahead of yourself, Amamiya." 

And he might have been purposely searching for trouble, but Akechi, in the unpredictable chess game that is their unusual relationship, is a formidable foe. No matter how much he tries to foretell his next move, the inner workings of his mind and the mystery of his incredible abilities remain shrouded behind elusive eyes. 

"From what I read in your group chat you've been busy with other songs, so I take it you didn't have time to work on our piece."

Ren blinks. "Wait, you actually read texts even when you're not tagged?" 

A defeated sigh escapes from Akechi's throat. "I did use to ignore it… Until Sakura sent me exactly 696 pictures of the same black cat with the menace of doubling the amount if I didn't vote in your stupid polls." 

"That… sounds like Futaba, alright" he snorts. Somehow the image of the ever unflinching Akechi Goro being at his wit's end due to having his phone invaded by pictures of his cat is both endearing and terribly amusing. "But that aside, I actually tried writing music with a different perspective from usual, so here."

His hand grazes the familiar shape of his headphones but in the mess of his bag settles for the smoothness of his songbook to hand it to Akechi. 

He tortures his fringe and lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. "It's the one without a title but with all the mess." 

The soft music playing in the background fills the silence created by the lack of Akechi's harsh comments, and yet his gaze follows a different rhythm. There's a light crease on his forehead that contrasts with the undefined emotion that lights his eyes whenever they settle on a score, like the very act of reading transformed messy scribbles on a pentagram in a melody that has yet to be played. 

"The verse and the bridge should be simpler if you want people to pay attention to the lyrics, but the opening riff is very good."

And in Akechi's hands a simple mechanical pencil becomes an instrument of art in the way it draws pauses and makes notes disappear in whiteness to create a song that is neither his nor Ren's, but that in all the unpredictableness of their relationship is starting to sound like _theirs_. 

A crease forms between Akechi's eyebrows, his gaze focused on the score like it's the only thing that matters. "You should properly listen to the music of this place if you want to broaden your horizons. From a technical standpoint what you composed is correct and a more than decent place to start, but it also feels like it's more focused on virtuosity than that kind of brainless sentimentality that characterizes your music."

"You…" _When did you listen to the songs I composed? Which ones? And most of all, how many times you did it that you've been able_ _to understand exactly what is the sound that I aim to perfect?_ "You sure know a lot about it. You brought me here because you noticed that tendency since that time in Leblanc, didn't you?" 

Russet irises gaze up to meet his own just to return to the score. "I just enjoy good music. Jazz is all about freedom, about the silent agreement between the musicians. There are no limitations to what one can play and how it should be played, so it's never boring."

A brown-haired woman climbs up on the stage together with three men dressed casually. The room is filled with the familiar sound of instruments tuning. 

"Give a look at my suggestions and make yours. I started working on the lyrics but I need a decent recording of the demo and a draft of the score to be more accurate." 

Akechi talks about being bored, about sticking with him to avoid an even bigger annoyance and yet his actions are a constant betrayal of his words. The feeling of being a satellite inevitably caught in music's gravitational field has distinguished his whole life and the boy in front of him, whose talent shines like an unpolished gem, is being torn apart by opposing forces of love and hate. 

A ringtone and the display of his phone shows Makoto's name. 

"Go ahead" Akechi says with a nod. "There's still some time before the show."

He hurries towards the staircase, far from the stage. The place carries a unique aura of sacrality, so much that devoting even a small fraction of his attention to his phone stirs the unsettling weight in his stomach. 

_"Are you with Akechi-kun?"_

"Hello to you too, Makoto."

A sigh comes from the other side of the phone. _"Sorry, but we have to reserve our turns at Haru's grandad place and you and Akechi were the only ones not answering in the group chat."_

The group chat, of course. The group chat he completely forgot about the moment he stepped into Akechi's little world made of jazz and eyes that could create music."... sorry, I didn't hear the notifications. Saturday after school is fine with me, I'll go ask Akechi if–"

_"There's no need to. Haru just said that he answered the same thing."_

"Oh, that's good to he–" 

_"This is unexpected, though."_

"... unexpected?" 

_"Well, yes. I mean, Akechi-kun really doesn't look like the kind of person that celebrates their birthday, even less so with a friend–"_

Oh.

"I actually didn't know that today was his birthday. He didn't mention it at all."

_"I see. Celebration or not he decided to spend it with you… There really is some strange bond between you two."_

"Bond? Makoto what are you–" 

_"Oh, I have to go, Sis's calling. Bye!"_

The stream of "beep"s that signals the end of the call freezes the blood in his veins. 

Akechi Goro invited him to a place that is undoubtedly dear to him, introduced him to a small part of the aenigma that is his world on the anniversary of the day he was born into the world. And it doesn't matter that there's no way he could have known, that all he's aware of is that he has a voice that shakes his heart and an ungodly talent for songwriting like his whole being is made of music, he just _has_ to do something about it. 

"Hurry and sit, they're about to begin."

He doesn't deign him of an answer, even if the barely contained excitement that seeps through the cracks of Akechi's ever apathetic voice is something worth teasing just to see more of him, more of the person behind the music. 

He rummages through his bag. 

Wallet, headphones, tissues, an open package of jagariko and then a jingle. His fingers wrap around a rectangle of embroidered black and blue tissue with a small bell of slightly oxidized metal hanging from it. It's been laying there for who knows how long. 

"Akechi, happy birthday." 

Russet eyes widen but a smirk settles on Akechi's features. "So Niijima told you, huh? Even if there's nothing to celebrate."

He throws the small object like it's an afterthought and it hits Akechi's forehead just to land on the table. The silence he is rewarded with has a somewhat menacing nuance, and a variegated stream of excuses he'll use to explain how their singer left the band after just a month forms in his mind. 

A chuckle bubbles up from Akechi's chest. "A… happiness talisman?" 

His shoulders shake more and he throws his head backwards with a wholehearted laughter that gains them a vaguely amused look from the owner of the club. Two brightly colored drinks stand out on the table and yet Akechi clutches his stomach like he's in need of something to anchor himself to. 

"It's… " he breathes out with another huff of laugher that has tears brimming at the corners of his eyes. "It's so stupid." 

"Yeah, I know. But guess whose fault is it? You're cruel, _senpai_."

Akechi wipes his eyes with a nonchalant gesture but a small dimple forms on his cheek with the upturning of a corner of his mouth. A pair of russet irises searches for his own and it's like they're really _seeing_ each other. 

"I don't have time to waste with idiotic superstitions." Akechi smirks with laughter still in his eyes and dangles the talisman in front of him. "But maybe I'll start believing if this sort of thing helps me get rid of you. So I'll accept your present, _Ren_." 

Ren is not Sumire, he's not the delicate flower that the character of his name depicts and it spills from Akechi's lips like he's already aware of that, like his music told him everything he needed to know. In the world where his dream rests there's no place for those who don't have willpower. 

"Well, you won't get rid of me so easily, Goro." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Very quick specification: the thing Ren gives Goro as a present is a "shiawase omamori" (literally "happiness talisman"). It's one of those little thingies made of embroidered cloth with bells attached you can find in Shintoist sanctuaries (check on Google, I suck at describing things). There are several types of them, depending on which blessing you want for yourself (like, good results in your studies, good luck with money or love).
> 
> \- Also, the songs featured in this chapter are:
> 
>  _Creep - Radiohead (Acoustic Ver.)_ (It's the song Ren plays on the school's rooftop. You actually have to look for this on YT, because the story's playlist only features the studio version, sadly.)
> 
>  _Knights Of Cydonia - Muse_ (For those who don't know - I didn't as well, until I read it by accident on the net - Cydonia is the name of a desert on Mars, so the Knights Of Cydonia basically are... space cowboys.)
> 
> \- As for the instruments our dear not-so-thieves play, I have some precise models in mind, at least for what it concerns Ren and Makoto): 
> 
> Ren's Acoustic guitar is a _Yamaha FX335C Dreadnought Acoustic-Electric Guitar_ (which is nothing obscene, simply an acoustic guitar that can be connected to an amplifier), while the red one he uses for practice is a _Cherry-colored Epiphone SG- 400 Diavoletto_. They're not very expensive, and I thought of them as the guitars Ren actually used to learn how to play.
> 
> Makoto's Bass is a _Lake Placid Blue Fender Precision Bass_ , which is... expensive, but with a very very nice vintage look.


	2. Summer - Dreaming with eyes wide open.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, summer. The season of sentimental drama and terrible life decisions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I told myself that I would update once/twice a week because I still have 2-3 scenes of the last chapter to completely flesh out, but I actually made a lot more progress with those than I expected so yay, it's safe to make an earlier update.

_夏は秋の背中を見て_

_Natsu wa aki no senaka o mite_

_Summer watches autumn from a distance_

_その顔を思い浮かべる_

_Sono kao wo omoiukaberu_

_And I imagine what its face might look like._

_憧れなのか 恋なのか_

_Akogare na no ka koi na no ka_

_Is it full of admiration? Is it full of love?_

_叶わぬと知っていながら_

_Kanawanu to shitteinagara_

_Whatever it is, it's something I know could_

_never transpire._

[Great Escape - RADWIMPS feat. Toko Miura] 

  
  


Heavy raindrops fall from a lead gray sky. An unceasing pitter-patter fills the silent gaps among the notes of a familiar singing voice. From the open window, partially shielded by the rooftop, the smell of soil seeps inside and dulls the pungent fragrance of dust, spices and coffee that permeates the attic. 

"I think we're almost done." He leans over the body of his guitar to scribble a correction on the pentagram. "Let's try the bridge one last time. I'll give you the tempo with the three bars before it."

Akechi nods, eyes sharp and focused on his own copy of the score. 

Ren switches the amplifier on and the red pick in his right hand grazes all of the six open strings. E, A, D, G, B, A, still well tuned, the volume barely louder than the rainfall. Quiet is good in the intimate process that is playing a newborn song. 

"One. Two. One, two, three four." 

His fingers move on the frets as if animated by their own will. The music that comes out from their motion flows like it was always meant to sound that way, steady yet sharp enough to cause pain. But this rehearsal is not like the other. His guitar is only a complement to what could be the groundbreaking element of the song, so his eyes search for Akechi, sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor, back straight and shoulders relaxed, search for the way the notes flow in front of his eyes. 

An intake of breath. The guitar lowers to a whisper, the rhythm of the pick only a gentle caress on the strings. Akechi's voice fills the attic, it becomes one with the sound of the rain, delicate yet heavy with the unspoken feelings that crease his brow and squeeze his eyes shut. He's simply solmizating the notes, the actual lyrics still a mystery hidden behind bloody eyes, but warmth blooms in his chest, wraps around his lungs with a shiver down his spine. 

_Why do you look so sad?_

"... I think this is it" he says instead and turns the volume of the amplifier off to let the valves cool. "I like how it sounds."

Akechi nods. "Yes, this is how it should be."

He hesitates but the words flow out from his mouth. "... will you let me give a look to the lyrics when you're done with them?" 

"I see." A smirk paints itself on Akechi's lips but it doesn't reach his eyes. "You don't trust me, Ren?" 

From a musical standpoint it's difficult not to trust someone who has most likely been blessed with perfect pitch, but Akechi has unpredictableness as his trademark and their success at the contest depends on his lyrics. 

A small part of him, in the depths of his subconscious, holds the certainty that those lyrics, whatever they're about, have the power of shaking him both in good and bad. So, all things considered, his own is just a matter of selfishness, of desperately wanting to know what lies beyond the iron curtain of Akechi's heart that drenches his voice in sorrow. 

"I do, though it might not be the wisest decision I've ever made." 

Akechi lets out a chuckle. "I thought you liked gambling." 

He gets up with a pop of his knees and shuts the amplifier down. "I just think that determined things are worth the risk." He lays the red, sleek body of his guitar on the futon as if it was the sleeping figure of a loved one. "It's a more reasonable type of gamble, at least." 

"Then why not gambling on my lyrics?" Akechi says with a challenge in his voice. "It would make things more interesting, don't you think?" 

His eyebrows quirk up but a corner of his lips rises into a smile. If Akechi thinks he's being subtle in deflecting he's going to be sorely disappointed but he'll let himself be played, for once. "And what the stake would be?" 

Russett eyes wander through the attic, caress the old CRT TV and the small sofa, his desk cluttered with scores and worn out picks, the sinuous curve of his guitar and linger on the shelf resting against a wall. 

Akechi points his index finger to it. "How about lending me that portable turntable for a while?" 

A small tin suitcase with its red painting scratched on the dents on its surface open just enough to show a peek of the record sitting inside. The bargain of a lifetime at the used goods store of the district just after he transferred to Tokyo. 

"I didn't make you a vinyl snob" he says with a smirk that elicits another chuckle from Akechi. 

"I'm not, but I suppose it'd be interesting to see myself why there are weirdos like you out there."

"It's a matter of quality of sound." He kneels in front of the shelf and his fingers browse through his small collection of records. Four bearded faces stare back at him from a burgundy cover. "Lay back your head and close your eyes. You'll get what I mean." 

He places the record on the plate with his fingertips and sets the stylus on the lined surface. A crackling sound. His legs hurry him on the floor next to Akechi and the futon welcomes his head with a soft thump.

From the small speakers the bass plays a steady rhythm, perfectly accompanied by the soft tingle of the drums. Small sequences of piano notes break the monotony with elegance. The sound of a thunderstorm. He peeks at Akechi, eyes closed and features relaxed, framed by chestnut locks and it's like he's stealing a sight not meant for him. Eyelids fall shut. 

A low voice fills the attic, brings the rainy season's sky into the room and talks about life in a way that belongs only to those who are consumed by it. 

_"Into this house we're born, into this world we're thrown… "_

Jim Morrison disappears and Akechi Goro takes his place, makes the bitterness of his lyrics his own and lets it curl his thin lips into a wry smile. It's the kind of irony that characterizes the act of living at its very core. 

Russet stares at him hooded by long lashes and in the dimness of the stormy weather flashes of maroon speckles. The air vibrates with the sound of a voice that has been colored with familiarity, tickles his cheek and then freezes, suspended between their faces. The bitterness drains out of Akechi's smile with the parting of his lips. A mysterious force twists Ren's stomach and, like gravity, pulls him forward, rejoices at the shortening distance. 

A loud scratch. The song stops and the storm is shut outside. 

Akechi chuckles and straightens his back. "I see why vinyl is so loved, it does have some kind of unique sound." A gap between them. "But it's pointless if it's so unreliable."

The record spins on the plate, no longer caressed by the stylus, and the sight bores a gaping hole in his chest. 

Akechi stands up. "I'll use the toilet downstairs, I need to shake off all the dust of this place."

The sound of feet descending on creaking wood enlarges the void. He blinks. Thunder rumbles outside the window and rattles the glass. An indignant meow rises from the sofa. Morgana, black fur standing on his back, jumps on his paws and sends Akechi's schoolbag tumbling down. A notebook and a few pencils scatter on the floor. 

He gets up and walks over to offer his cat a gentle pat on the head and his fingers thread through his soft fur. "It's just the storm, Mona" he says in a soft voice. "It's alright." 

His words are rewarded with a loud purr and Morgana, as if nothing ever frightened him, jumps down and approaches Akechi's notebook. Tiny paws aim for the worn-out monochromatic cover but Ren lifts it up to prevent it from becoming a toy for claws' sharpening. 

"I bet his notes are as neat as his scores" he snickers as if Morgana could comment on the topic. On the white pages stand out several verses written in black ideograms, the word 'kizuato' spelled in katakana atop of them. _"... sunny, rainy, cloudy, all four seasons, every single day, and there's a piece of you in each of them."_

A prayer to a bright yet deaf sky. Bloody red shadowed by pain. Words that speak without the need of the score they belong to. Words of love and loss, consuming and painful. Words that would move a public to tears but meant for someone else. He should have never doubted Akechi's talent.

"I knew you were the meddlesome type but I have to admit that I wouldn't have imagined you going as far as sticking your goddamn nose in someone else's bag." 

Akechi, arms crossed and pursed lips, stares at him. 

"It's not like that." He closes the notebook with a snap but his hands refuse to listen to his brain's insistent order of letting go. "Morgana pushed your bag on the floor and this came out of it."

The thin line of Akechi's mouth becomes a sneer. "Oh, I see. Now it's the cat's fault." A shaking of the head. "Well, it doesn't matter. I suppose you're satisfied now."

The song that "existed nowhere" has become a tangible reality made of actual music and lyrics. It should be enough of an answer to quench his thirst for knowledge and yet questions as numerous as the notes on their score linger on the tip of his tongue. 

"Is this…" He swallows with difficulty. "Is this the reason you look so… _sad_ when you sing?" 

_Who is it that you loved so desperately that it tore you apart?_

"I hate this song" Akechi says flatly, knuckles white on his clenched fists. He strides forward and the notebook is pried away from his hands with a brusque gesture. "I hate music and all that comes with it. I hate _you_."

It stings. It makes rage fill the hole in his chest and seethe with the scorching bitterness of poison, but Akechi, blissfully unaware or simply uncaring of the turmoil he caused, walks away without sparing him another look. 

_Liar_. 

§  
  


**_Ren:_** I need you to do background research on someone

 ** _Futaba:_** Is this about Akechi?

 ** _Futaba:_** If it is, I hope you know that I'm judging you 

**_Ren:_ **... it is 

**_Ren:_** I swear I'll explain everything 

**_Futaba:_** Fine, gimmie a few hours

 ** _Futaba:_** And you owe me that Red nendo we saw in Akiba 

§

_"Hello?"_

"Ann, I found a really nice crême bruleé recipe, wanna come over for dinner?"

A pause and a sigh. _"... what happened with Akechi?"_

"What makes you think that something happened?" He's making himself ridiculous. 

_"The last time you invited me over to eat sweets was when your parents told you that they gave away your CD collection to your cousin."_

The memory still freezes blood in his veins. "They did that to discourage me. You know that my cousin told grandma that I'm into Satanism because I listen to the 'devil's music'."

 _"True, but for you to pick my favorite dessert it must be something even worse and the only one who actually has the power to upset you in this moment is Akechi."_ Silence. His fingers tap on the phone. " _Okay, okay, no more questions until I'm there. I'm on my way."_

§

"He did _what?_ " Ann sticks a spoonful of yellowish cream in her mouth, blue eyes wide. 

Futaba shoots him a side glance and sprawls on his futon. "He asked me to do a background check on Akechi because he's too awkward to actually get him to tell him."

He wasn't prepared for this. "Futaba, _please_ , stop deceiving Ann. I swear I'm no depraved stalker."

"Alright, then." Futaba's playful tone becomes practical. "Tell us the whole story and _then_ I'll give you the info you required."

Two pairs of sharp eyes settle on him. It's good having friends he can rely on, but both Ann and Futaba can be really stern with him. "I accidentally read the lyrics of the song Akechi helped me write."

"Accidentally?" Futaba's tone is a mix of curiosity and suspicion. 

He nods and purses his lips. Regret tastes bitter on his tongue. "Mona made his bag fall and the notebook with the lyrics opened on the floor."

"Woah, you made quite a face there" Ann says with a light frown on her brow. She crosses her legs with a squelch of the sofa's fake leather. "What were they like?" 

"Heart wrenching." His chest aches at the thought. "They talked about a lost love and the inability of moving on. It's like… every single part of the world is filled with memories that haunt him and consume him with every passing day. They're not the kind of lyrics you can write without experiencing the thing."

Ann's gaze softens, baby blue to glistening aquamarine. "It must be so hard for him… Love can really tear you apart, don't you think so, Futaba?" 

But Futaba is no longer abusively enjoying his futon. She sits with her back against the wall, knees tucked to her chest and face pale. "Ann, Ren…" Her voice trembles together with her eyes. "You're wrong. It's not the kind of love you're thinking about…"

A cold hand clenches around his heart. It's been a long time since he's last seen her in this state. "What do you mean?" 

"It's about his mom…" Her voice breaks. "Akechi lost his mother three years ago. His divorced father… he killed her and then died not long after."

Ann springs up from the sofa and walks up to his bed to cradle Futaba's shaking form in her arms. A hand tortures his other as if the gesture could distract him from the uncomfortable squeezing in his chest and erase the painful sight that is the result of his selfishness. 

"I'm sorry, Futaba."

A pointed glare from blue eyes. His teeth bite into the flesh of his lips and the pain that sparks is fuel for clarity. 

"I couldn't have imagined it was about his mother. If I did, I wouldn't have been so selfish."

"You've been a dick, Ren" Ann says with a frown. She rubs soothing circles on Futaba's back. "Even if all this didn't hit so close to home, it's still wrong. You can't stick your nose in someone's past if they refuse to talk about it, even more if it's just for a song."

It would be great if his chair could swallow him up and erase him from existence. "I… I know. I hurt both Akechi and Futaba's feelings, it's just… I wasn't thinking straight."

Futaba looks up from Ann's shoulder. Her eyes sparkle with unshed tears behind her glasses. "It still hurts to think about mom's death, and I don't think the pain will ever go away, but I was able to move on thanks to Sōjiro and you all." She rubs her nose with the sleeve of her t-shirt and Ann smoothens her wild red fringe with motherly kindness. "But Akechi is not me. By reading those lyrics you betrayed his trust but you might have also poured salt on an open wound."

The image of Futaba, pale as a ghost in the spectral light of the PCs in her room, is a scar that still aches in his heart. 'This place is my tomb' she told him, eyes rimmed by dark circles and devoid of life. Sōjiro had dug his fingers in the door's handle but looked like he wanted to cry. 

"I don't know what reason pushed you to act like this, but you've been a real asshole." A trembling glare. "Good intentions or not, Akechi has all the right to be angry with you just as _we_ are."

"Ren." Ann's voice is softer than Futaba's but her gaze is just as stern. "You should let Akechi cool off for the time being and then apologize to him. Also, you should probably apologize to the rest of the band. As things are now… I highly doubt he will sing at the contest next week."

Usami-sensei asked him a stupid question about butterfly effect, during class that morning. It's a bit less fascinating and a lot more ironic when he's the one whose actions are causing a complete disaster. 

"You've picked a really neat death flag, Ren" Futaba snickers despite her quivering lips. Her cheeks have regained a bit of color. "Makoto will be very happy to know that Akechi dumped us."

A shiver runs down his spine. She _had_ warned him and he has really fucked up, there's no way she isn't going to snap his neck like a pocky. His eyes shoot to Ann. "Please, talk to Makoto, I'll buy you all the chocolate crêpes you want."

The narrowing of her eyes is betrayed by sparkling irises. "Even from that very expensive place that has just opened in Shibuya?" 

"O-of course." The cries of help from his wallet go unanswered. It's going to be a long, expensive, summer. "Just… tell her that I'll take full responsibility for this. I'll write a new part so that I can replace Akechi's voice with my guitar."

_Maybe it'll be a good way to sort the messy hell in my head._

Ann gets up with a creak of the crates sustaining his futon. "I'll bring Futaba with me, so if you pay for her as well we have a deal" she says in a solemn voice. "But uhm, just avoid Makoto for a couple of days, okay? I can't guarantee your safety until I get to talk to her." 

"Oho, Ann-dono. Going already?" A devilish grin sits on Futaba's lips and lifts the heavy weight their conversation set in his chest. Her eyes are still a bit red. "Or maybe you're going to see your yankee prince?"

A faint pink paints Ann's cheeks. In his head a voice that sounds a lot like Sōjiro's sighs 'to be young and in love'. "I told you we're not like that!" A stomping of feet. Thank goodness is closing day. "I'm going to Haru's, we have to finish sewing the outfits."

"And other lies you can tell yourself." Futaba snickers with a wave of her hand. "Take care, I'll send you unreleased Mona pictures to cheer you on."

He nods. "Don't overdo it, Mona would be sad."

Ann rewards them with a big smile, one of the many that helped both him and Futaba, and disappears down the staircase. 

Futaba plops down from his bed and stretches with a yawn. "Well, I'm gonna go too. Today's curry day, so I can't let it go cold." 

"Futaba, I…" 

"Don't worry about me, I'm fine." Her eyes are unwavering, her back straight. She's grown so strong. "But no matter what stupid excuse you'll make up, I can't believe that you of all people acted without considering Akechi's feelings."

"I can make mistakes, I'm only human, after all." He offers the apologetic sketch of a smile. "I just was a dickhead, all things considered." 

Futaba closes her eyes and nods vigorously. "Yep, you totally were. I mean, didn't I teach you a thing or two about the importance of key items?" 

His head cocks to the side, an eyebrow lifted. "What do you mean?" 

"Jeez, you really are a noob." A small finger points against his chest, accompanied by firm eyes. "You looked so bored and uninspired during winter vacations but ever since you met that idiot both you and your music changed in positive. So get your shit together and aim for the true ending."

"I see." A smile forces his way on his lips at his own stupidity. It was so simple. "You're right, Futaba. The show isn't over yet."

§

**_Makoto:_ **I heard from Ann. 

**_Ren:_ ** I'm so sorry, Makoto. I've been so insensitive and irresponsible 

**_Makoto:_ **Yes, you were. But… 

**_Makoto:_ ** I suppose I owe you some apologies, too. 

**_Ren:_ ** ??? 

**_Makoto:_ **I knew about Akechi-kun's loss. Sis was an acquaintance of his mother and she's taken up the role of his legal guardian. 

**_Makoto:_ ** I should have warned you not to pry but I would never have imagined he would write a song about what he went through. 

**_Ren:_ ** Wait, so this means Akechi lives with you and Sae-san? 

**_Makoto:_ **Don't be silly, of course not. 

**_Makoto:_ **He lives alone in a small apartment his relatives rented for him. I don't want to delve further into his privacy, so please, don't ask for more. 

**_Ren_ ** _:_ He doesn't answer my texts or calls and he's avoiding me at school

 **_Ren:_ **At this rate he isn't going to sing this weekend 

**_Makoto:_ **That's very likely, unfortunately. But the damage's done, so focus on learning your solo part. 

**_Makoto:_** We can't mess this up. 

§

The metal steps of the staircase clang under his footsteps, the rust black under the bluish light of twilight. A series of muffled moans comes from the first door of the floor, sign that announces another likely sleepless night accompanied by a symphony of "yes, harder"s and "more"s. They're more entertaining when they quarrel furiously. He rolls the hole of his keychain around his finger and the obscene sounds drown in metallic jingling. 

"I've been waiting for you, Akechi Goro" a familiar voice says from the dark corner between the door of his apartment and the side wall of the corridor. 

He turns his phone's torch on and a flash of white light illuminates an unmistakable cascade of orange hair. As if his plans for the evening didn't suck enough. 

"What do you want, Sakura."

Sakura Futaba squeezes her eyes and wobbles her way up to her feet like a newborn chick. She crosses her arms on her chest. "We need to talk."

"No, we don't. Go home" he deadpans and punches the key into the lock. 

Another loud moan. Muhen's place in Kichijōji is open until late and a night in some internet café should be affordable. The door clicks open with a whine of rusted hinges and the darkness of his apartment welcomes him. He takes a step forward but a weight that doesn't belong to his body makes his effort of ignoring Sakura Futaba useless. 

"Let me go, or I'll make you."

"Nope." The clutch of small arms around his torso tightens. "I never leave a quest unfinished."

Another difficult step forward. "If said quest is convincing me to talk to Amamiya, then it's already game over."

The door slams shut. His hand gropes the wall for the switch and a light bulb flickers on to illuminate the faded green of the damaged tatami and the dark blotches of humidity on the mustard-colored walls. Matsumoto-san still hasn't called the plumber. 

Sakura's grip on him loosens and her feet touch the floor with a soft thump. "You're a noob, Akechi" she gloats and kicks away her shoes in front of the small wooden step that guides to the only real room of his house. "You won't get rid of me with that sloppy technique."

 _She sounds like him. How aren't they related by blood?_

"Well, anyway, no." She plops down in front of the short-legged table with a huff. Maybe he should lift her by force and drop her out of the door. "I'm not here to solve problems on that idiot's behalf. He's been a dickhead and he has to face the consequences of his actions, nothing to say about that." 

"Then I guess Amamiya told you everything about me and my oh-so-tear jerking past" he says in a flat tone. He sits on the other side of the table. The tatami creaks pitifully under his weight. 

"Ren's the dickhead but I've been the one who did the background digging. How do you think I've found this place?" 

The mouth of this stomach twists at the name. A hand grips the edge of the table. "Then why are you wasting your time with me?" 

"Easy now, feral boy." Sakura's tone is playful but her eyes are unwavering in the way they look right at him. The wood creaks under the force of his fingers. "I'm gonna tell you a story. Do you know how our band was formed?" 

"I suppose you'll tell me no matter the answer." 

A nod. "Good, you catch up on things quickly." Small hands fiddle with long orange locks. "Two years ago, the summer before Ren transferred here, my mother died in a car accident." 

His breath hitches in his throat. 

"She was a pretty famous scientist, y'know? But she always supported my hobbies, including my piano lessons. You could say she was my number one fan."

_The notes of a piano echoed in their small apartment. His mother turned around in a cascade of brown curls, eyes crinkling and white teeth peeking from thin lips. She looked so happy when he sung._

He swallows the memory together with the bitter lump in his throat. A crease crosses Sakura's forehead. 

"We had a quarrel. She was busy with work and said she couldn't make it to my piano competition so I gave her the silent treatment." A self-deprecating chuckle fills the apartment. "I was stupid. But she cared. Mom worked her ass off for the whole week so that she could surprise me with her presence, but at the crossroad right before the auditorium a truck went through a red. She died instantly." 

The sounds of his neighbors' angry sex stop, the air so thick and still that it might freeze that moment in time. The lightbulb hanging from the ceiling buzzes faintly and flickers. It might go out any moment but Matsumoto-san won't call the electrician to check the lighting. 

"... I am sorry for your loss, Sakura, but spare me the–" 

"If you don't have anything clever to say to hide your awkwardness just shut up and listen." 

It's ironic, given how Sakura herself might be the queen of the Awkwards, but her voice is fraying at the edges like a rope held together by a single thread. Despite everything, her gaze is fixed on him. 

"I couldn't play anymore. Whenever my fingers touched the keys I would feel overwhelmed by irrational guilt. I thought I didn't deserve to do what I loved because I had been selfish enough." 

_'Is this the reason why you look so sad?' Ren asked him with his eyes like the stormy sky of that day downcast on the notebook in his hands._

"You know, Ren might be an asshole sometimes, when his brain cells shut down and he starts meddling in other people's business, so please, be angry with him, punch him in the face if it's necessary." A smile. "But I guess it's that selfish selflessness that saved me. For almost a whole year Ren came every single day in my room and played music for me, talked to me even if he barely remembered that one time we played together as children. And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world he said: 'let's make a band'."

He inhales deeply, the stinging smell of mold flows through his nostrils. "Not all people wish to be saved." She deserves at least this much honesty. 

"Yup, I know that, and I'm not here to tell you what to do or not to do, really. But…" She drums her fingers on the table. "Let me give you a piece of advice, edgy boy. Ask yourself if you're fine with keeping on being an NPC in your own life. If your answer is yes, well… Keep doing your thing. Shut everything and everyone outside because it's easier. I know how that works." Purplish eyes narrow to a thin line. "But don't drag Ren into your indecisiveness, he already has… a lot to deal with. Don't break him just because you have the power to do so."

Sakura gets up, her face all big eyes behind even bigger glasses, and flashes him the sketch of a smile, as if she hasn't just dropped a quantity of TNT that would suffice to destroy a whole skyscraper in his rundown apartment. 

"Are you in love with him?" The words tumble out his mouth and chill his blood. 

"We're family" Sakura says in a deadly serious voice. "Bonds of blood aren't everything." 

She spins on her heels and strides towards the entry to put her shoes on. He stares at the small shadow she is against the darkness of the early summer night. The door closes with a click and leaves him alone with the chaotic swirl of his thoughts. 

He lets his body fall on the floor. The distinct smell of tatami surrounds him. 

"Family, huh?" 

The lightbulb flickers again with more intensity and goes out with a few sparks. He should save for a lamp or he won't be able to study during the night. 

"There… Yes, right there… Ah!" 

A tremble shakes the confining wall, repeats itself in rhythmic cadence. One. Two. Three. Four. Another moan. Disgust rises from his empty stomach with a retching of bile. It's difficult to come up with a concept of family that doesn't have him closed in some kind of room or out of his house for most of the day. 

One. Two. Three. Four. A grunt. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket. He rolls on his side.

**_Prosecutor Niijima:_ **I'll come check up on you tomorrow afternoon. 

**_Prosecutor Niijima:_ **If you need me to bring you something don't hesitate to tell me. 

She's just as stubborn as her younger sister. Does he need something? More instant ramen, probably. Bleach to get rid of the mold? It would make the room stink. A way to stop his goddamn neighbors from fucking like rabbits every single day? Definitely. 

**_Akechi Goro:_ ** I have club activities, tomorrow. 

**_Prosecutor Niijima:_** I see. I'll notify you the next time I'm free, then. 

**_Prosecutor Niijima:_ **I don't want to pressure you, but please, consider my offer. 

'I don't need your pity' he types but doesn't send, the light of the screen that blinds his eyes in the darkness of the room. 

He gets up and puts his shoes on. The earthy smell of the rainy season welcomes him together with the lights of the station at the end of the road. The screeching sound of the train on the metal tracks is soothing if compared to the obscenities that compose the soundtrack of his house. 

His reflection stares at him from the window, dark circles under his eyes, slightly disheveled hair, rumpled uniform. The perfect picture of a hardworking student preparing for his entrance exams. But looks are so deceiving. Nobody would believe how hollow he is beneath the surface or how someone like Sakura Futaba has such a tragic background. 

The fuse she set on is about to trigger an explosion, the sparks tingle under his skin like an unstoppable countdown. Do bonds unrelated to blood truly exist? The look in Sakura's eyes certainly hinted so. 

"Hello, Akechi-kun. It's nice to see ya." 

"Ah, good evening, Muhen-san" he nods distractedly, eyes on a small empty table in a corner. 

"Take a seat, I'll get you somethin' to drink."

"Is it okay if I put on Lyn-san's record?" 

Muhen smiles behind his sunglasses. "You're lucky, she's on stage tonight." 

"Mh?" His gaze embraces the sight of wooden tables and walls of lined records. "There are awfully few people for one of her shows."

A fluorescent yellow liquid is poured into a tall glass. "Nothing gets past ya, huh? She was supposed to sing on Saturday but there's a nice contest going down in Shibuya that day, so we figured it would have been nice to leave the stage to the kids, somehow." 

Grey irises pop up in his mind. The sound of a guitar that tells his story. 

_Don't break him just because you have the power to do so._

"I see. That's… very nice of you." 

"Here, it's on the house." Muhen hands him his drink, an item he's never seen on the menu. "You should hurry up, they're already done with the soundcheck."

He certainly has the power to exercise a certain influence on the people around him or the girls in his class wouldn't look at him like a Bedouin looks at water in the middle of the desert. 

He stirs the bright yellow liquid with his straw. A familiar sequence of notes scans his favorite song. Lyn's voice has a warm quality, flows so naturally with the music that it might as well spell out his thoughts. 

_"But tonight got me thinking 'bout it all, if I am the fool or whatnot…"_

A girl confessed to him. The boys in his class looked at him with envy, the girls with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Of all the things that could have crossed his mind, he only had a low voice that whispered "reject her". Her eyes didn't look very sad when he did. 

_Amamiya Ren's eyes are iridescent. Quicksilver under a light frown flashes in his mind at the sound of a guitar but it lights up and it's stormy gray through dark lashes, Riders On The Storm that plays quietly in the background. They look down, where his lips are, and they're pewter, a stormy ocean, long lashes that flutter. He's close to falling into those perilous waters but a force equal to the one pulling him forward restrains him. Pastel grey devoid of any shine. He should have let himself fall._

_I broke him._

The drink is bitter and fizzy on his tongue, makes his eyes sting. Lyn's voice soothes his soul. 

_"What fills up my soul is passionate, music that makes me want to sing."_

§

The white numbers on the display of his phone that sign ten minutes to their turn make a lovely picture of Morgana showing his belly a representation of dread. 

"Maaaan, I'm gonna piss myself now." 

Ann, beautiful in her casual red dress, glares at Ryuji. "Don't you _dare._ Do you have any idea of how much time me and Haru have spent working on these costumes?" 

"Now, now" Haru says with her lips trembling in a nervous smile. "I'm sure that Ryuji was just joking. We're all on edge now."

Makoto, clad in grey slim jeans and silver spikes, walks up to him and joins him on the steps that lead to the backstage. Her eyes are restless. "Any news from Akechi-kun?" 

"No" He shakes his head with a sigh. His fingers are numb. "He doesn't read texts and the calls don't go through." 

Makoto closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose. Some light silver eyeshadow glimmers in the faint light of the stairs. "Futaba tried to give him his costume but he wasn't home, so she left it in the mailbox." 

"I'm sorry, Makoto, I fucked everything up." It won't fix the problem but it's the only way to patch things until they get on stage. 

"I've been thinking a lot about you and Akechi-kun, lately." A guitar solo echoes faintly through the walls. "And I came to the conclusion that nobody is completely at fault for this situation. You were the one who understood Akechi-kun the most, so you probably saw something that none of us could that made you so invested in him to lose track of right and wrong."

He swallows a dry lump that tastes like selfishness and anticipation. "... Did it look that way?"

A smile makes his way on Makoto's dark painted lips. "There _was_ undeniable chemistry between you two and I think that Akechi-kun tried as hard as you to figure out what it is." 

"And what if I still don't have a definite answer?" He's talking too much. Damn nerves. 

"That's fine." Makoto leaves a gentle pat on his shoulder, her eyes kind. "Feelings are a very complicated bundle. You have to find the right extremity to start unraveling it, so take your time." 

"The Phantoms on stage in a minute!" a guy from TA calls. 

Makoto stands up and offers him a hand. "Try to rely more on us, Ren. We're your friends, we don't want you to get hurt."

He takes it. Four pairs of feet tap on the wooden floor. The stage lights are blindingly bright and warm to a fault, the black polish of his guitar obsidian under their shine. The finitures of the body and the volume knobs are veins of gold, like he's holding an artifact adorned by the finest kintsugi technique. The familiar weight of his Les Paul grounds him in its unique way, as if the increased pressure of gravity is a reminder of the reason why he's there. The curtain rises and it's the starting point, the search of the fated thread. 

"Hello Shibuya, how are ya?" Ryuji yells into the microphone over the drums. 

Shibuya _screams_. 

The crowd is rewarded with a grin. "We're 'The Phantoms' and this is Kizuato!" 

Ryuji's brown irises meet his own and Ren's lips graze the microphone, the roar of adrenaline loud in his ears. "It's showtime." 

One. Two. One, two, three, four. 

Murmurs from the crowd, curious gazes, confused frowns. A figure walks up to the microphone, black skinny jeans and a dark striped t-shirt with ragged edges. Brown shaggy hair frames his face, russet eyes gleam under the lights. His breath hitches. 

He nods to a wide-eyed Ryuji. _Onwards_. 

A tapping of drumsticks, four-four. 

His fingers glide on the neck of his guitar, the cutting pressure of the strings welcomed by muscular memory. Music required him sacrifices but gave him so much in return. The pained voice from his dreams, the one who chose Bellamy and Morrison and made their music its own, joins his chords, the beat of the drums, the humming bass. 

_"All of the little things you left behind, they're all I need, they are everything."_

Goro's voice is a scream that pierces through deaf skies. It drowns in pain and spits it out like poison from an open wound. His guitar follows, cries with him, _for_ him, so much that the ache in their music becomes a shared burden. 

They practiced this song so many times – on the school's rooftop, under the same vast blue that has never listened, in his shabby attic, dust fluttering like golden flecks in the late spring sunshine. Each note impressed its shape on his fingertips just like Goro's voice left scratches and scars on his heart.

 _Ann's smile was wistful, like a dark cloud has obscured its usual shine. "Love can really tear you apart, huh?_ " 

Ryuji's drums rumble a smooth rhythm, nail that complicated passage that had them repeat that part for a whole afternoon. It flows steadily yet not loud enough to overwhelm the words that have started it all. 

_"Rainy, sunny, cloudy. All four seasons, every single day and there's a piece of you in each of them."_

Long-fingered hands grasp the microphone stand, a small black leather belt wrapped around the elegant slope of one wrist. All the instruments stop and the delicate notes of Futaba's piano are a whisper of understanding. 

_"_ _It's like losing a limb" she said, eyes distant. "The wound might have healed, but sometimes you think that your arm or your leg is still there and that it was all a bad dream. Realizing the truth is like having it teared out all over again."_

A quiet gentleness takes possession of Goro's voice, russett irises hidden from the public in a flutter of eyelashes and trembling shoulders. 

_"I can still hear and still it is so real. The words that you breathe, they become a part of me once again."_

_"Do you… miss her?" he asked her in a quiet voice._

_Futaba hugged her knees. "All the time. But it's fine, I think that missing her is a part of keeping her memory alive. Even Sōjiro thinks so."_

_His eyes stung. "Do you think he loved her?"_

_"Oh, I'm sure of that." Futaba said with a downcast gaze and the hint of a smile. "He still does."_

The whisper is louder, becomes a tearless crying. The hands that hold the microphone stand like it's an anchor in the middle of a storm shake ever so slightly. 

_Ah… I see. You haven't cried ever since then._

_"Dig them all out and carry away these forgotten, but colorful memories."_

A sequence of chords, six strings that vibrate with the movements of his pick and a voice they play for. They urge to let out those unshed tears, to love and be broken just to be patched piece by piece, born anew. Ren's ached for him, for this music. 

Silence. Goro's chest is heaving, droplets of sweat roll down his temple. The crowd explodes in thunderous applause but Ren rests his guitar on its stand among the wide-eyed looks of his companions. 

Bloody red quivers – "don't look at me", it screams at the dozens of gazes that stare back in surprise and adoration. His hand wraps around a pale wrist and pulls gently. The sound of their steps is drowned by the chorus of cheers and worried questions, by the way his heart beats furiously in his ears. 

"Ren." Goro's voice breaks on that single syllable. Under the faint light of the backstage his eyes glisten with tears held back by sheer force of desperation. "You're an idiot." Lips quiver, white teeth peek and bite rosy flesh. "You're so… nosy. And insufferable." 

His lips curve into a smile. "Yeah, I know." 

"But…" Russett evades his gaze with a frown. _No, look at me. I want to see you properly._ "It pushed me to take a step forward. Thank you."

Warmth floods his chest and morphs into a bundle of energy that squeezes his heart with a force that might break it. 

"Goro" he calls, the name new and bittersweet on his tongue. 

Trembling irises look at him. "I don't want you to see me like this" they implore in a silent plea. He swallows a mouthful of air, his throat parched, and it's like he is tiptoeing into a world of things that aren't meant for his eyes to see, just like the words written in that notebook. 

But his heart aches for him, rattles against his sternum like a starved prisoner that has already consumed his share. Another gentle pull and the warm firmness of a body crashes against his own in a stilted motion. 

_Please, don't run away._

The frown on Goro's face deepens and his lips tighten in a pale line. Blood roars in his ears.

"Goro."

Ruby red glistens, beautiful yet fragile like cracked glass. A sharp intake of breath and a trembling exhale. He'll pour gold into the creases. His hand lets go of its hold and makes its trembling way up. His fingertips trace the sharp line of a cheekbone, gentle, as if he's tending to something precious. Goro's mouth trembles. 

_I won't look, I promise._

His free hand reaches up to cover his own eyes, so cold that it makes goosebumps rise on his skin. Irregular puffs of breath tickle his cheek, the tip of his nose, his lips, hitch at the warm pressure of flesh against flesh. 

The taste of tears and sweat. 

"You did so well" he whispers against his ear. Goro's chest shakes ever so slightly against his own. He takes a step back and spins on his heels without a single glance. "I'm gonna go back on stage to play a bit more."

His legs move him forward and up the stairs, among sighs of relief and questioning looks. He embraces his guitar, the warmth of a kiss still on his lips. 

His chords scream of being still _alive_. 

§

**_Yoshizawa Sumire:_** I wanted to tell you this in person, but there was too much chaos

 **_Yoshizawa Sumire:_ **Congratulations on winning the jury's mention prize! You were all amazing! 

**_Yoshizawa Sumire:_ **Both yours and Akechi-senpai's performance moved me deeply. 

§

"Hey, did you see those two?" 

"Do you think they're models?" 

"Totally. They're so hot!"

"Oh, c'mon, you talk like that just because you want a punk boyfriend."

A sigh gets out of his lips. The obscenities his neighbors yell during their quarrels are more interesting than the conversations of his peers. "I hope you have a good reason for dragging me here right after I saved your band's ass."

"It's also _your_ band" Ren chides with a kick on a stray rock. He's not wearing his stupid fake glasses, but his eyes are still hidden under the unruly mop of raven hair on his head. An enka song reverberates through the unceasing chit-chat of the stalls.

"But that's not the point of the conversation." His knees ache from the discharged nervous energy. If he tires himself enough he might be able to sleep past the routine 4AM sex noises of the confining apartment. "I'm tired of waiting, so out with it." 

Ren fiddles with his fringe and turns his gaze on him. His eyes are quicksilver under the orange light of the paper lanterns. "... I'm sorry" he blurts out, voice honest to a fault. "What I did earlier in the backstage was unfair."

Faint warmth rushes to his cheeks. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You really are a nosy idiot, aren't you?" he says through gritted teeth. His hands grip the edge of the bench. "Don't treat me like I was drunk or high on something." 

"Oh." Ren blinks in a flutter of dark lashes, eyes wide and lips slightly parted to compose a flattering image. "Then let me know the next time you're not 'drunk or high on something'." 

He's still a total mess but sane enough to restrain himself. It's not the proper time and place to settle the score. “I don't waste my time stating the obvious, so I'm afraid you'll have to find out for yourself."  
  
“I’ll have to gamble a bit, then” Ren smiles, lips crooked and small dimples on his cheeks. 

People clad in their yukatas pass by them, walk in tiny steps taken in uncomfortable sandals and hang colorful tanzaku on bamboo branches. Life has given him a difficult pair of shoes to walk in and the paper that is supposed to convey what he truly desires to the stars has been lost somewhere along the road. But it’s fine. A step, no matter how small and painful, is still a step and if the sky won’t listen he’ll sing loud enough for his voice to reach her.   
  
“I want to carve my own path” he says. The knot in his stomach loosens slightly. “So let’s extend our deal.”  
  
Ren tilts his head to the side, a small frown on his brow. “Our deal?”  
  
“I gave my word that I’d stick with you until we finished the song, didn’t I?” A deep inhale, the smell of warm food and summer night. “I want to face music properly, but you? What are _you_ going to do from now on?"  
  
A shadow casts itself on Ren’s eyes despite the small smile that curves his lips, reveals yet another part of the intricated rhapsody he is. “I’m gonna keep on making music that reaches people’s hearts.”  
  
“I see, quite the ambitious intention for someone who didn’t even have a proper band until a couple of months ago.” A smirk. _You’re the same as me, aren’t you? “_ You better see that through until the end, then. I have no intention of making music with someone who can’t keep up.”  
  
“You should always aim for what’s beyond your possibilities, because that’s the only way you can surpass your limits.” Ren’s gaze is lost into the silent sky whose stars are invisible to the eye, as if it were the very boundary he’s striving to cross. He opens his mouth, innocent teasing on the tip of his tongue, but all the stardust hidden beyond the curtain of artificial light looks at him in a pair of grey irises. “I also have someone I want to reach with my music, though I guess it’s a bit more of a selfish reason than yours, Goro.”

When was the last time someone called him by his name? The memories of those times are hazy, fragments of the notes of a piano painted in vivid colors among the frames of an old, soundless movie. 

Maybe the music they make together is the secret.

  
  


§  
  


**_Ryuji:_ ** F I N A L L Y _  
_ _  
_ **_Ann_ ** _:_ IT HAS COME 

**_Yusuke:_** You seem quite enthusiastic about the beginning of summer vacations.

 ** _Ryuji:_** Man, exam week right after the concert was a bummer 

**_Ryuji:_** I couldn't stand Ushimaru's face anymore 

**_Ann:_** But it's over

 ** _Ann:_** for a whole month 

**_Ann:_** The sun, the beach 

**_Ryuji:_** and no school stuff

 ** _Makoto:_** I don't mean to spoil the mood, but we all have homework _._

 ** _Makoto:_** Especially you, Ryuji and Ann, should make good use of this time. You were really close to having mandatory attendance to summer classes. 

**_Futaba:_** They were too busy playing tonsil tennis after the concert to think about studying :')

 **_Yusuke:_ ** A fascinating image, anatomically speaking. 

**_Haru:_** I'm glad that everything went well, but we should also think about our prize 

**_Haru:_** We should decide when to use our recording sessions and prepare thoroughly 

**_Ren:_** I was thinking about September, right after returning to school 

**_Ren:_** We should play live as much as we can during the holidays, we need experience 

**_Makoto:_** Ren has a point. Being given the chance to record a song is an occasion we can't waste for many reasons, so we have to make sure to be in top shape. 

**_Haru:_** It will also serve as a nice memory for the time we spent together playing :) 

§

**_Yoshizawa Sumire:_ ** Hello, senpai! I'm terribly sorry for disappearing after the concert and not replying to your message about my program. 

**_Yoshizawa Sumire:_** After exams, I've been so busy with choreographing your song together with Mai-sensei! I got a special permit from school to skip lessons, too. 

**_Yoshizawa Sumire:_** I'm really proud of the results I'm getting but I still have a long way to go until I can feel completely satisfied. So I'm going to train harder than ever! :) 

**_Yoshizawa Sumire:_** I hope you're enjoying your summer vacation and playing lots of music. I'd love to hear your band play again! 

**_Ren:_** Don't worry about replying to me but also, don't overwork yourself. Training is important but resting from time to time is good for both body and mind

 ** _Ren:_** About that. We're going to Haru's beach house in Shimoda this weekend, so why don't you join us? 

**_Yoshizawa Sumire:_** I'm very thankful that you've thought about me, but I don't want to impose myself. Except for Futaba-chan, your friends don't know me that much…

 ** _Ren:_** The others are a friendly bunch and Haru's already said she's completely fine with you joining

 ** _Yoshizawa Sumire:_** You're all too kind, I don't know how to thank you. I'll ask Mai-sensei if I can take the weekend off! 

§

Summer is the worst of nightmares.  
  
The sun glares at him from its zenith, warms the air until it quivers and blinds him with the shine it casts on crystal clear water. Not a single gust of wind blows between the rocky walls that set a boundary between the beach and the cool, shadowy forest that surrounds Okumura’s mansion. Sand scorches the soles of his feet and sticks to his skin, soaked with sweat and itchy from the salt.  
  
“Inari. For the love of all the GreyRed doujins in Comima, answer me.” Sakura, orange hair tied up in two buns that make her look like a ridiculous manga character, sits up from the beach chair next to his own. “What are those… _things_ .”  
  
Kitagawa, his figure tall and looming in front of them, blinks and his gaze drops down to the two bright red crustaceans in his arms, cradled with the same gentleness a mother reserves to her newborn children. “Ah, I see you’ve been struck by Ludwig and Camille’s charm as well.”  
  
“Ludwig and… Camille?” Sakura’s eyes are wide, lips slightly parted. She shakes her head. “Wait. Did you actually give a name to a couple of lobsters?"

“You’re asking the wrong question here, Sakura” he says with a sigh. This is going to cause him a headache. “I think the most important thing is _how_ Kitagawa was able to get these.”  
  
The ecstatic light in Kitagawa’s eyes hits him as a wave of terror as cold as an ice cube suddenly running along his back. “Oh, a very kind-looking man offered them to me at a very modic price. Although I wonder where he went.”  
  
“Didn’t Niijima say this beach is part of Okumura’s family’s private property?” The words tumble out of his mouth as if he’s sharing trivial information about the weather but hang in the air like stormy clouds in a clear sky.  
  
“Inari.” Sakura’s hand barely reaches Kitagawa’s shoulder, a look of utter defeat and desperation on her face. Her voice trembles. “Please, tell me you have at least enough money for the train fare.”  
  
“Oh, this could be quite problematic indeed” the other says like the fact doesn’t bother him at all.

His stomach churns at the sight of the crustaceans being closed in the thermal bag that welcomed the ice creams they ate earlier. He clenches his teeth and gets up to take a step out of the shadow cast by the beach umbrella. Risking insulation is far more appealing than dedicating even another minute of his time to the nonsense coming from a dumbass duo that likely shares a single brain cell. 

“Ah, Goro, there you are.” Ren, deep blue bermuda shorts and white skin exposed, tosses a ball into the air to catch it upon its descent. It’s odd seeing him, a creature whose colors are intrinsically bound to the night, so at ease under a brightness that doesn’t belong to a spotlight. “Me, Makoto and Sumire are going to play beach volley, but we need a fourth man.”

“And I suppose you want me to be that man, huh?”  
  
The idea of rolling himself into sand and dust to hit a ball is one of the most futile things one could propose to him, but a sharp smirk forms on Ren’s lips. The ball rotates on his finger. “What, afraid of losing?”  
  
His mouth opens, ready to accept the gauntlet thrown at him, but a small figure appears behind Ren, red hair tied in a ponytail and a thin physique clad in a childish swimsuit. “Senpai, what did Akechi-san–”  
  
“Yoshizawa-san, you’re with me” he deadpans.  
  
A flutter of eyelashes and Yoshizawa’s mouth assumes the shape of an “o”. “Eh? Ah, I mean, okay!”  
  
“Let’s make them bite the dust.” The words escape him in a hiss that has the smirk on Ren’s lips widen.

He strides forward, the sand burning under the sweltering heat of the early afternoon, and Yoshizawa follows him with the clumsiness of a duckling chasing the mother goose. The court is well maintained, the blue lines that shape it firmly pinned to the ground and a professional net that divides the wetted sand in two equal areas. Under a beach umbrella next to the left sideline, Okumura waves at them with a smile.  
  
“I didn’t expect you to actually accept” Niijima says in a slightly surprised voice from the other side of the court. Ren joins her with the ball still in his hands.  
  
He crosses his arms. “Sakura and Kitagawa’s nonsense was giving me a headache, so this is a nice distraction.”  
  
“Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because we’re not at school.” The ominousness of Niijima’s words is so amusing. Serious types like her are the most satisfying to beat and the fact that Ren is teaming up with her raises the stakes just how he likes it. 

His eyes close and his lips curve into the most amicable of smiles. “Of course. I would be offended if I were to beat you even when you’re not putting the maximum effort.”  
  
“Uhm, it’s good to see you’re both fired up” Okumura says with a troubled voice. “But let’s begin, okay?”  
  
Ren nods and walks beyond the goal line. “Are you okay with us serving first, since we already have the ball?”  
  
“Do as you please, it won’t change the outcome” he smirks. “Yoshizawa-san.”  
  
Red irises perk up. “Y-yes?”  
  
“No matter how powerful your jumps are, the sand will weaken your momentum and you’ll risk a missing spike, so focus on tossing.” His feet sink into the sand, right at the center of their side of the court. “I’ll handle the spiking and the reception.”  
  
Yoshizawa nods vigorously and strides towards the net to face him, eyes sharp and focused. The blowing of a whistle breaks the silence. Ren tosses the ball in the air in front of him and hits in one steady blow that sends it right onto his arms. The impact stings but the ball floats towards Yoshizawa that tosses it up high in a swift movement.  
  
Volleyball is a chore he isn’t particularly skilled at. It requires constant focus and quick thinking, which would be fine if it wasn't for the girls on the sidelines squealing at his every single touch on the ball during the school rallies. But the beach is quiet and no unnecessary eye is ogling him in hope to catch his attention. No one’s but Ren’s.  
  
His legs push him up and the ball hits his hand. Ren’s eyes focus on it in the singular way they do when he’s reading a score to make it his own, follow the rhythm of the descent like it's a scale played backward. The impact on his arms is a syncope in the melody that preannounces a change of the tempo but Niijima’s toss is a note played too quickly, doesn’t fit with the musicality of Ren’s movements. 

A spike, _breve_ rest. One. Two.  
  
Yoshizawa moves her feet on the sand like a prima ballerina, lowers the ball’s momentum in a motion as graceful as the curve of her back and arms, like her body is sliding on the ice. Her notes are gentler than Niijima’s, but faster, delicately urge him to reconnect with Ren with a direct spike. 

Their match is a concert and the court is their stage. The ball, like an unpredictable director, guides them in a rhapsody of staccatos and drastic changes of tempo to fall into that reciprocal chase that pushed him to take hold of that microphone and take a step away from the past. 

Another blow of the whistle. The score of the third set is signed as 25-25, a deuce. 

"This has been going on for a while" Okumura says in a gentle tone. "I think that both Mako-chan and Sumire-chan could use a pause."

A drop of sweat runs along the back of his neck and gets lost in his already drenched shirt. His eyes dart to Yoshizawa, hunched with hands on her knees and labored breathing shaking her little form. 

"I suppose it would be an inconvenience if Yoshizawa fatigued herself too much." A thermic bag rests next to Okumura's feet. The image of two lobsters flashes into his mind accompanied by a shiver. "What do you have in there?" 

Okumura's eyes light up and she hurries to open the object. A transparent plastic bottle dripping with condensation comes out of it. "I took the liberty of bringing some of the water here so that nobody had to come back to the umbrellas when thirsty, so please, don't make compliments."

"Nice, Haru" Ren says with the hint of a smile on his mouth and his eyes directed towards him. "Here, Goro."

The small bottle is taken from Okumura's hands and thrown at him, its coolness a relief against his burning palms. Yoshizawa ogles the object with a glimmer in her eyes that elicits a sigh out of him. He holds it out to her. "Take it. You fought well."

"Oh, thank you so much Akechi-senp–" 

A wave of cold hits him and the taste of salt spreads in his mouth. Water drips from his hair. His shirt sticks uncomfortably to his skin. Yoshizawa, the bottle still in her hand, stands still with wide eyes and wet red hair pressed to her forehead. 

A burst of feminine laughter rises from behind him. Takamaki, an empty bucket thrown at her feet, is hunched on herself with tears in her eyes. He blinks. A snort. 

"Se-senpai" Yoshizawa brings her hands to her stomach and fails miserably in stifling a laugh. "You… You look like a drowned cat!" 

He follows her gaze and his eyes meet Ren, skin dripping with water and inky hair draped over half of his face and an orange-haired figure with a satisfied smirk on her mouth. He blinks and a force rises from his lungs, pushes through his larynx to come out as an unrestrained sound that echoes in the court. 

"Oh, look!" Yoshizawa's voice is full of joy and childlike wonder. "You made Akechi-senpai laugh!" 

He takes a sharp intake of breath and the sound disappears with it. Ren passes a hand under his fringe and slicks it back to look at him with slightly widened eyes and lips parted. He's yet another Ren, another facet that only _he_ was able to bring out. 

A growling sound. 

"I-I'm terribly sorry!" A faint pink colors Yoshizawa's cheeks. 

Okumura smiles and covers a snicker with a hand. "Mako-chan, I think we should get going if we want to shop for tonight's barbecue." 

"Yes" Niijima nods next to her, completely unscathed by the watery assault. A chuckle. "We don't want to risk getting eaten by Sumire-chan." 

"Me and Ryuji will join you, if you're going to town" Takamaki says with a grimace. "That idiot sunbathed without sunscreen on and has been burned to a crisp. I planted him under the umbrella under Yusuke's supervision but I'm a bit worried."

"I think I saw a Pharmacy next to the bus stop." The smirk on Sakura's face assumes an ominous nuance. "And please, keep the cream spreading PG-13, me and Inari are going to take our stuff back home." 

Yoshizawa bows deeply. "Please let me help, I may be small but I'm strong enough to carry one of the umbrellas!" 

"Sure thing, Sumi." Sakura lifts her thumb up. "Inari would probably die after the first 100 meters if he were to carry both of them." 

Niijima frowns lightly. "Someone needs to stay here and prepare the fire. Ren-kun, Akechi-kun, do you mind?" 

"No problem" Ren nods. "We don't even need to gather the wood, since the staff of Haru's house already did the job." 

He places a strand of wet hair behind his ear. Water dots the sand like a sudden shower. "I guess I could use something to dry quickly since the sun is going to start setting soon." 

"Then it's settled. Let's all meet here in an hour and a half, okay?" Makoto dusts the sand off her legs. "If anything happens use the group chat or call me and Haru." 

A weight is lifted from his chest and a sigh of relief is stifled in his chest at the thought of the momentary peace. He's not made for dealing with people.  
  
“Follow me.” A little smirk stirs on Ren’s lips. “I’ll show you how to light a fire like a real pro.”  
  
“You sound like an arsonist.” He clicks his tongue and Sakura lets out a snort. It wouldn’t be surprising in the slightest if his words held a seed of truth.

“Preparing a barbecue is an _art”_ Ren gloats in a way that sounds dangerously close to Kitagawa’s discoursing on aesthetic values.

Sakura raises an eyebrow but her skepticism is betrayed by another snort. “Yeah, just as burning an entire pot of Sojiro’s curry.”

“Just how Sakura-san hasn’t thrown you out of his place yet?” The question is purely rhetorical, given how Leblanc’s owner has adopted Ren and his bunch of idiots as if they were stray puppies, but a wet hand wraps around his wrist and the only answer he gets is a white back. The sand is pleasantly warm under his feet.

“His clients would be heartbroken without a handsome face greeting them” Ren mutters in a flat tone. Droplets of water glisten on dark curls under the afternoon sun and dot pale skin like gems gifted by the ocean. The words of the book that has kept him company during the travel to Shimoda are a faint echo in his mind.

 _'All at once everything before his eyes was illuminated. (...) As if all the world’s diamonds, that the diamond companies hide in order to keep prices up, had been abruptly dumped out and scattered recklessly all over.’_ _  
_ _  
_ After all, Ren really is born to be under the spotlight.  
  


§

  
Bright flames climb up towards the sky like orange vines on a dark pastel blue wall and engulf the round shape of the sun being embraced by a sea of gold. In the bluish light of twilight Ren stares at the horizon with eyes lit by tiredness and mischief alike, like a cat enjoying a nap in the shade after sneaking away from trouble. 

His teeth sink into his lower lip. "Your friends are taking longer than I expected."

Ren stretches on the cool sand beside him and flashes the hint of a smile, a barely visible curve on pale lips. "Futaba, Sumire and Yusuke are about to make their way here and Makoto and Haru have bought extra food, so they're walking back at a slower pace than anticipated." Eyes like the edges of the twilight sky settle on him. "You know, they could be your friends as well if you talked to them a bit more."

_A meddler through and through._

"I have very good reasons to believe that both Sakura and Niijima want to chop my head off. Which isn't very encouraging, in that regard."

"Futaba might have been a little too harsh in spamming all of those Mona pictures after the concert." Whatever regret for the red-haired gremlin's actions Ren holds is stifled by the beginning of a laugh hidden behind a hand. A cat-like being that is weak for an actual cat. "She doesn't hate you, though. And Makoto actually has fun competing against you."

His eyebrows shoot up. "I can see why you would say that about Sakura, given her awkwardness, but Niijima makes it quite clear that she doesn't like me." 

The smile on Ren's lips widens. "That's because you purposely rub her the wrong way. But you know, she agreed immediately when I asked her if she was okay with you being our fourth man." Ren would very much be the type of person to tell gentle lies to quell the anxieties of the people he cares for but his eyes are honest and unwavering even in reflecting an everly-changing flame, so much that doubting his words doesn't cross his mind. "I think she enjoys being challenged so she can push beyond her limits."

Maybe he's been wrong all along. Ren attracts people because he has the ability of making their talents shine in the same way the sun bestows its light on the moon, hidden behind a curtain dotted with stars. And yet, in embracing his guitar, he's blinding enough to illuminate the whole stage. But he won't sit and bask in someone else's glory, he stepped on that stage to carve a path to be a light of its own. 

He exhales. "Are you acquainted with Niijima Sae?" 

Ren blinks and his brows furrow slightly. "Makoto's sister? She's a regular at Leblanc but we haven't talked much."

"After my parents died she became my legal guardian." He sinks a hand into the soft sand, still slightly warm from the sunlight. "She's been asking me to go live with her and Niijima for a while and… I decided to accept."

The light of the fire gifts Ren's eyes with a transparent quality as if offering them a closer look would grant him the ability of reading his soul. 

"Futaba told me about the place you live in, so… I'm glad." Ren lifts his gaze to the darkening sky and searches for the flickering dots of the first stars. A small smile blooms on his lips. "I'm glad that you're breaking free from what stifles your sound. I want to hear more of your music." 

His fingers curl into the sand, claw at it as if it could help him gather the strength to swallow the lump that has insinuated in his throat ever since Ren kissed him. It's a gentle pain, the same that seeped into their song and dragged tears out of his eyes. He forces an exhale out of his mouth. 

"I'm not drunk or sleep-deprived" he says in a dry tone. Ren's eyes tear themselves away from the sky to settle on him wide and brilliant like they stole Vesper's own shine. He swallows. "And I'm not high on adrenaline."

His heart beats a slow tempo that matches the waves’s gentle lapping. Dark lashes shield transparent irises from the prying eyes of the flames to make his heart’s content a sight for him and him alone. Ren closes the gap between them without a sound. Despite the rain bringer nature of his name, Ren's lips are warm and the naked skin of his shoulder burns under the palm of his hand. 

Every cautious touch is a memory that resurfaces from the depths of his hippocampus. His heart torn between the urge to cry, scream and laugh hysterically, between punching Ren in the face and kissing him senseless. 

The cheerful ovations of a blissfully ignorant crowd, the words both worried and surprised of the band’s members and the roar of blood in his ears fill his head like memories from another worldline. But the world outside is restricted to the soft sounds of their lips touching, the accelerated breaths that tickle his skin, the gentle rustling of curious hands. They might be the last people on earth. They're on a stage no one else can see and the sounds they breathe on each other's lips shape the beginning notes of a new song that tells a whole new story. 

A story that started on a summer's night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- New chapter, new songs. This story was HEAVILY inspired by Kizu Natsuki's 'Given', a BL focused on music that I love with my whole heart. This time we have:
> 
>  _Out Of Kindness from P5R's Original Soundtrack_. (It's the song of Sumire's short program, the one she skates on in this chapter!) 
> 
> _Kizuato_ (which means "scar" but it's actually written in katakana, like it's a foreign word. It's the song they play at the concert!) by _Centimillimental_. It's the opening of Given's anime adaptation!
> 
> \- The guitar Ren uses during the concert is a _black Gibson Les Paul Standard_. It's hella expensive, but also hella good, the kind of guitar many pros use and that Ren bought by saving money and working so many part-time shifts. He's such a hardworking boy, isn't he?


	3. Fall - Slumber

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Futaba:** The Phantoms… ASSEMBLE!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of figure skating stops at what I learned through Yuri!!! On ICE, so I actually had to look up a few things on the net before writing this chapter. Forgive me if there are some inaccuracies, I try to do my best!
> 
> The babies are going steady, but there some hiccups in other matters...

_ 使い道もなく大人は目を背ける _

_ Tsukaimichi mo naku otona wa me o somukeru _

_ The useless adults look away _

_ それでもあの日の君が今もまだ _

_ Sore de mo ano hi no kimi ga ima mo mada _

_ But ever since that day you  _

_ 僕の全正義のど真ん中にいる _

_ Boku no zen seigi no do mannaka ni iru _

_ Have been in the middle of all my justices  _

_ 世界が背中を向けてもまだなお _

_ Sekai ga senaka o mukete mo mada nao _

_ Even if the world turns its back on me _

_ 立ち向かう君が今もここにいる _

_ Tachimukau kimi ga ima mo koko ni iru _

_ You would be here and now to face it.  _

_ [Is there still anything love can do? - RADWIMPS]  _

  
  


Yoshizawa Sumire's eyes gleam like rubies in the hallway lit only by the faint light that filters through the glass doors leading to the rink. The intense sound of a violin shapes the air into the notes of Vivaldi's Winter. 

"Are you really sure it's fine for me to be here?"

Sumire's gaze wavers like ripples on a lake's surface. "Don't worry, senpai, if anyone asks you're a member of my staff." Her lower lip, just a shade darker than her face, disappears behind white teeth. "I just… need you to be here, right now. To calm my nerves." 

"... I'm here" he echoes in a breath that mingles with the muffled cheers of the crowd. "And you'll do great, Sumire. Not because you're going to skate to a song I composed, but because you're you and you practiced really hard for this very moment." 

Practice is what reinforces talent, after all, and Sumire has enough of both to perform incredible things. 

Her lips stir and tremble but her gaze remains downcast. "If I don't get first place I won't be able to qualify and there are so many points between me and the girl in first place… "

His hands grab her shoulders with gentle strength and a twinge of pain squeezes his heart at how small yet unyielding they are against his palms. 

"Sumire" he calls, voice soft yet stern. Sumire looks up with a veil of tears in her eyes like she's ogling at the freshly made calluses on his fingers after a day of practice. "Don't compare yourself to others or think of them as an unapproachable flower. You are strong. You are the flower other people may look up to. You just have to get out there and show them who you have become."

The violin stops and the cheers from the crowd take renovated vigor. The shoulders held in his hands tremble but the uncertainty in Sumire's irises melts in a flurry of glittering lashes and a smile that bears the innocence of a child. 

"You've always been like this, senpai." A small giggle rises from her lips. "You face everything in such an honest and brave way, trying to understand the world and the people you meet with your music. I just can't help looking up to you." 

Her eyes are unwavering, a stark contrast with the image of the desperate plea of russet eyes etched in his hippocampus. It's easier, even with the care required in every step, stepping into the world of someone else's deepest feelings. The corners of Sumire's smile soften. His stomach drops. 

"I'm in love with you, Ren-senpai. I've always been since middle school." 

His name sounds so honest yet foreign from her lips that it breaks his heart. Sumire is so brave, much more than he is. Warm hands cup his cheeks and his eyes meet fiery ones. 

“Please, don’t look so sad." A thumb caresses his cheekbone. Sumire's voice is delicate like her touch. "I know your music belongs with Akechi-senpai's." 

His breath hitches. "How do you…" 

"The way you played at the concert made it unequivocal. You both looked like you were… longing. So much that I couldn't feel sad for being rejected before I could even confess." The warmth on his face fades away and Sumire's hands drop to her sides. "But even so, I would like to hear your answer." 

A voice horribly similar to his own haunts him.  _ "It's for her best", "If you reject her and she fails, it will be your fault". _ Sumire offers him a trembling smile that betrays the firmness of her gaze and makes his stomach churn. He pressed Goro for honesty but he runs away in front of feelings that make him uncomfortable. He's such a hypocrite. 

"I'm… honored that you have such a high opinion of me." The words sting sharp and bitter in his mouth. "But I'm not the flawless hero you see me as. I make more mistakes that I can count and chicken out when confronted with things I don't like. But you -”   
  
“You don’t have to hold back for my sake, senpai. I told you I want to become strong enough to walk with my head held high and… " Thin hands wrap around his own."Things will only get harder from now on. I can’t let myself be spoiled by the people around me.”   
  
A weak laugh escapes from his mouth. He hides his selfishness behind the conviction of acting for others’ sake and hurts them in the process. It’s been the same with Goro, after all.   
  
“I’m sorry, Sumire, I can’t... return your feelings.” Air fills his lungs and surges out in a long sigh. “I don’t know if this is love or something like that, but there’s someone whose side I want to play.”   
  
_ We made a promise. _

“I feel relieved.” Red eyes sparkle in the dimness and Sumire’s hands leave his own. “Now that I don’t have anything binding me down, I can give my real best. I hope you and Akechi-senpai will watch my performance closely, because I want to honor the song you wrote for me.”   
  
“Is this the reason why you invited him as well?”   
  
A smile blooms mischievous and sweet on her lips. “I don’t know much about music, but somehow the song you played at the concert and the one you composed for my free skate gave off a similar feeling. That’s when I thought that you two really share something unique.”   
  
_ “I want to face music properly, but you?”  _ _   
_

§

The creaking of the plastic seat under his weight gets drowned in the notes of a pop song that echo through the skating rink. In the kiss and cry a girl with short black hair fiddles with the sleeves of her track jacket but a voice announces a number that has her jump on her feet. 

Goro crosses his arms and shoots him a side glance. "So? How long do you intend to stare at the void just because a girl confessed to you?" 

"How–" He chokes on the word with a cough. "Have you ever considered a detective career?" 

"Don't let Sae-san hear you, or she won't let me live in peace. One doesn't need to be particularly sharp to see through you, sometimes." 

"Seriously, how did you guess it?" 

Goro shrugs, the tiny hint of a smirk on his lips. "Well, the fact that you looked like Sakamoto when he tried Leblanc's coffee for the first time kind of gave you away." Russet eyes wander the bleachers dotted with people. "But I suppose Shimoda was a substantial hint."

They shared a song, a kiss, a promise and yet, how the world looks in Goro's eyes is still a mystery to him. 

"I've rejected Sumire's confession" he says in a stilted exhale. A weight is lifted from his chest. "I want to play music with you, so I broke her heart." 

The voice from before announces that the skater Yoshizawa Sumire from Tokyo prefecture is about to take the ice. The smirk on Goro's lips twists with a note of wryness. 

"You're straightforward to the point of stupidity, you know? Even I am aware that we are bound to hurt and be hurt by someone during our lives. And I'm sure that Yoshizawa is, too." A frown paints deep lines around Goro's tired eyes. "It's pretentious of you thinking that your rejection will negatively impact her performance. Not to mention how insulting it is towards the effort both you and Yoshizawa put in preparation for this moment." 

_ You already have me all figured out. And yet, I know nothing about you. _

His fists clench on his lap. "I… I've known Sumire for a long time and a part of me was selfishly happy of being relied on. But I know." A viscous lump of words fills his throat. "I know she's much stronger than I give her credit for. I realized when I wrote this song for her."

"Then watch her properly." Goro's eyes close but a smile unfurls on his mouth and drips into his words like the faintest hint of honey. "And let her show me more of your music."

As if prompted by the words, the quiet murmur of the crowd raises and gets engulfed by an applause. Just like the first time he saw her on the ice, Sumire skates gracefully at the center of the rink, clad in a black corset and jacket, and closes her eyes. The room goes quiet. Tiny shoulders raise and lower, and the warmth of familiarity floods his chest at the way the first notes of his guitar fill the space. 

The name 'Sumire' calls the picture of a smiling girl in glasses to his mind. A girl that cried at the blisters on his fingers like she was the one hurting and that supported the people she loved with the utmost sincerity, like she couldn't even hope of being just as lovable. Simple yet charming. Just like a lonely violet in a shadowy patch of grass. Just like the song that talks about her. 

Sumire moves on the ice with mesmerizing grace. Each step blends seamlessly into the other like they're creating the notes they're performing on. It's nothing as grandiose as Vivaldi or evergreen as the soundtrack of some famous movie. Just a bittersweet guitar that tells the story of a girl that struggles against reality to become her ideal self. And so Sumire stretches her arms out with heartbreaking yearning, but her hands grasp at the air to hold nothing. The guitar subsides and a quartet of strings - courtesy of Futaba's genius - enters the song to swing between high pitches and low laments. Goro's eyes follow the ethereal figure without batting lashes and let the invisible score of her movement create the image of a person realizing their own fragility. A young man singing his heart out to the sky, a boy rejecting the person who admired and loved the ideal him, a girl dropping on the ice with the grace of a falling petal. 

The strings gain pathos and the melody accompanies a Sumire that rises under the limelight like a flower under the rays of dawn. Her legs push and push on the ice in a movement that has been engraved in his memory by the sheer wonder of a body that twists in the air and lands on a single leg like it held no weight at all, like gravity is meant to be defied. The crowd cheers. A cold hand wraps around his own. 

When will he gain the strength to get up again? 

§

**_Yoshizawa Kasumi:_ ** Thank you so much for everything you did for Sumire, Ren. And I don't mean just the song. 

**_Ren:_** I should be the one thanking her. She gave me a lot to think about. 

**_Ren:_ ** But how is she? She was crying even when going back to the locker room. 

**_Yoshizawa Kasumi:_ ** I think she skated without thinking about scores and medals, so the gold might have come as a bit of a shock. 

**_Yoshizawa Kasumi:_ ** She's fighting against emotional turmoil but she will be fine. It's my strong little sister we're talking about! 

**_Yoshizawa Kasumi:_ ** Also, I've heard that you finally recorded your song. When will your next concert be? 

§  
  


**_Yoshizawa Sumire:_ ** I just received notice that I'll be competing at the Roestelcom Cup in Russia and at the Trophée Eric Bompard in France. 

**_Yoshizawa Sumire_ ** : You, Akechi-senpai and your music gave me strength, so I'll do my best to repay that kindness!

**_Yoshizawa Sumire:_ ** I would have liked to discuss this in person but things are quite hectic at the moment

**_Yoshizawa Sumire_ ** : I hope that, even if only a little bit, I'll be able to connect your music to the world. 

  
  


§

**_Haru:_ ** I saw Kasumi-chan's recording of Sumi's performance and it was beautiful. Both father and grandfather were quite mesmerized by it

**_Ryuji:_ ** I don't know shit about figure skating

**_Ryuji:_ ** But man, those jumps were some crazy stuff

**_Ann:_ ** Sumire-chan was so expressive, I honestly got moved at the violin part

**_Futaba:_ ** I see you're a woman of culture, Ann-dono

**_Futaba:_ ** Because that was my doing :'3

**_Ann_ ** : And Ren allowed that?? 

**_Ann_ ** : @Ren your song committed crimes against my feelings, take responsibility 

**_Yusuke_ ** : It was truly a sight to behold, indeed. And Ren did a remarkable job. 

**_Yusuke_ ** : Although I have to admit that I'm quite surprised about Futaba's participation. 

**_Yusuke_ ** : Such delicateness is rather unexpected from her. 

**_Futaba_ ** : . . . 

**_Futaba_ ** : Oh, Inari. :) 

**Haru:** It would have been wonderful to celebrate Sumire-chan's success before Yusuke-kun is slaughtered, but both me and Mako-chan are very busy with cram school this week. 

**_Makoto_ ** : I personally contacted Sumire-chan and it seems she's on a rather tight schedule herself. 

**_Ren_ ** : Sumire's likely to be busy until late November, I just checked the dates of the competitions

**_Ann_ ** : We can always celebrate during winter break, then! 

**_Ann_ ** : I'm sure we'll manage to come up with sth! 

  
  


§

Ann's crimson nails tap on the wooden surface of the table with a dull sound, accompanied by an unintelligible mumbling. A light frown forms between the blue eyes focused on Jazz Jin's drink menu. "Ugh, they all sound so appealing, I don't know what to choose." 

"I think the Magic Fizz is something you would adore." A corner of his mouth quirks up. Only Ann could get into a crisis due to wanting to taste the whole menu. "It's strawberry based, so it's sweet, but also contains a very fizzy lime soda that makes it less filling." 

A lean finger taps on pink lips with a thoughtful hum. "Sweet yet fizzy, huh? It does sound like something I'd drink…" 

"You could always try a different one next time, you know that me and Goro would be happy to have you among the public." 

"Ohhh, I'll take you up on that offer. I miss seeing you guys play since everyone in the band is so busy." Ann's eyes drift towards the small stage where Goro, Hiiragi, Kaji and Uenoyama are with the sparkle of excitement in her irises and a note of melancholy in her voice. Even uplifting songs can have sadness in their lyrics. 

It wouldn't be surprising if Ann saw right through him. 

Like some unconventional savior in fedora and sunglasses, Muhen approaches their table with a smile. "Nice performance, Ren. Your guitar really was on the spot." 

"Ah, thank you, Muhen-san." 

"I told ya to stop it with the honorifics, they make me feel like some old man." The smile widens to reveal slightly crooked teeth. "So, can I take your and this lovely miss' orders?" 

"My friend would like a Magic Fizz." Ann meets his gaze with a vigorous nod. "I'll go with an original drink, instead." 

Muhen scribbles something on the worn-out notepad in his hand and lifts his head to look at the stage. "Sit back and enjoy yourselves, I heard from Goro that he's got quite the bomb up his sleeve for today. No wonder many of the new regulars come here just for the two of you." 

The dark-clad silhouette of the man disappears among the crowd of tables and, as if cued by his words, the piercing screech of the microphone caters everyone's attention towards Goro. Russett eyes glare at the public. 

"Good evening. I'm Crow and this is 'Feeling Good' by Muse." 

Ann beckons him with a tilt of her head. "Wait, 'by Muse'? Wasn't the song sung by that Canadian singer Boss likes?" 

"Nope" he says with a shrug. "It's been originally written for a musical and many artists reinterpreted it in their own style. Muse's version is inspired by Nina Simone's and it's made quite challenging by Bellamy's falsetto." 

Ann blinks and her lips part to form a small ellipse. "And Goro is able to sing something like that?" 

The hint of a smile takes hold of his lips. Goro really is living up to their promise."We'll know by listening." 

The quiet murmur of the public dies out, its remainings engulfed by the distorted notes of a piano. They repeat in a steady tempo to create a foreboding atmosphere, crawl on his skin like the electricity in the air before a storm. A sequence of lower notes flanks the high pitched rhythm and morphs it into a hypnotic cadence that has his foot tap on the wooden floor. 

Goro takes a deep breath, the rise and fall of broad shoulders and the hands that cradle the microphone the only foreshadowing to the entrance of his voice. 

_ "Birds flying high, you know how I feel…"  _

Some of the so-called "geniuses" are talents born from years of practice and wholehearted dedication and yet Goro, who has avoided music for most of his life, is on a whole other level. Through his gruff baritone shine the rough edges of his personality, the sharpness of his tongue, the unruly charm of his wits. With his eyes closed and slightly parted mouth that grazes against the microphone his face is that of the devilish angel he would confess all of his sins to.

_It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life for me…"_ Dark lashes lift to show russet irises that search his own. A smirk, with the sharpness of a too tightly wrung guitar string, unfolds on pink lips he has kissed. " _And I'm feeling good._ "

Goosebumps rise on his skin. He swallows to find his throat parched and his hands fumble on the table to tighten around cool and wet glass. An exotic flavor lavishes his tongue. 

"Ren." Ann's voice is an urgent yet amused whisper in the courting between the piano and the electric guitar. "I know he's really good but keep your cool."

A beach enshrouded in darkness. The warmth of a bonfire, of skin on skin, of… "Yeah, he… tastes really good."

"You better start thinking about Mona's toe beans, because you're seriously risking a boner." 

The instruments quiet down and leave behind only the faint rhythm of the drums. Goro's voice, distorted by some kind of effect, rises at the same pace of his heartbeat to shift into a falsetto that only adds to the intrinsic sensuality of the song. His fingertips tingle. 

§

The wooden stairs of the stage creak under his feet. His legs tingle from the adrenaline but satisfaction fills his chest. He tackled Bellamy and Nina Simone but he can do better, he  _ will _ do better.

A pleasantly warm hand wraps around his wrist. 

"Goro, come with me" Ren says in a hoarse voice, cheeks flushed and eyes like molten silver. The seconds that separate them from the toilet flow like droplets of honey. 

The door of the stall whines and creaks under their weight. 

It's so foolish, but it's the music's fault. It always is, when Ren's involved, like the notes he's missing are hidden in their mingled breaths, in the gentle hunger of their touches. 

And he's feeling good. 

§

The score falls on the wooden floor with the grace of a feather and the distinctive crackling of paper. A groan rises from the weight of Ren's head on his lap to fill the dusty air of the attic. 

One of his eyebrows shoots up. "I suppose this is your unceremonious way of saying you don't want to rehearse the song another time?" 

Ren makes a clicking sound with his tongue and shifts his head to better rest it on his thigh, the soul of a lazy cat trapped into the body of a teenager. "It's not that I don't want to, but I'm tired of playing covers. I want to write something new or I'll end up getting into a slump again."

"Covers are a good way of practicing the bases, even I know that."  _ Kizuato _ is a once in a lifetime thing, his regrets bared naked to the world, to Ren. What would the dark grey irises that look up at him betray if the unfathomable creature they belong to was to write a song? "But I suppose it's fine trying something new if you already have some ideas."

"Nope, mind empty" Ren deadpans. "And I doubt I can come up with something decent an hour before my shift at Crossroads." 

His chest heaves with a sigh. "Then what do you propose to do in this hour to satisfy your boredom?" 

A smirk unfurls on Ren's lips. The white-tiled walls of Jazz Jin's staff toilet. Feverish grey irises that look at him from below. 

_ Wrong question. _

Ren circles his neck with his arms. "Let's make out," he says simply, "at least this will shut our brains off for a while." 

It would be so easy, falling into the unique rhythm of their lips colliding, into the sounds they make at touches of quiet desire and keep harvesting a song that belongs only to them. The curve he still hasn't tasted enough is just a pantomime of the defiant lips that – like an alchemical reaction – morph slate into quicksilver. 

"Go to horny jail, Ren" he blurts out. Somewhere in Yongen-Jaya Futaba will feel a sudden surge of pride for his nerdy shenanigan. "I won't risk Boss catching me with your goddamn tongue down my throat." 

"Well, if you don't want it in your throat I can always put it around your –" 

"The shop's still open. Sae-san is downstairs." 

Ren's arms drop to his sides, his face slightly paler. "And horny jail it is. I heard from Makoto that Prosecutor Niijima is scarier than Sōjiro when angry." 

"I'm not entirely sure she would get angry. She's being unnervingly supportive of both me and Makoto's choices so I wouldn't be too surprised if we got away with some discourse about saving sexual intercourses of any type for when Leblanc is closed." 

_ But I surely don't want her to catch me doing very graphic things with the very same person she keeps pestering me about.  _

"I think that would be worse than being the object of her fury" Ren says with a note of desperate amusement in his voice. A dark, thin eyebrow quirks up. "But still. Supportive of your choices? Like, how?" 

"Do you  _ really _ wanna know?" 

Ren shrugs. "Sure." Slate eyes meet his own. "I'm curious about your life." 

His lips part slightly. Nosy people get on his nerves, but the more he should get annoyed, the more he's unavoidably compelled by Ren, by the clear honesty of his gaze. 

"... as you might know, Sae-san is very busy with her job, but by the time I effectively came to live with her and Makoto she had already arranged her father's studio for me to use as a room. She even had the walls soundproofed." 

The light in Ren's eyes dulls. "Ah, now that I think about it, Makoto said that her sister really appreciated her copy of our single." 

_ "I also have someone I want to reach with my music, though I guess it’s a bit more of a selfish reason than yours, Goro.” _

"Thanks to Futaba and Kitagawa's work everyone had two additional copies of the song. I heard from Sakura-san himself that you gave him one of them." 

A slate gaze avoids his own. 

_ So there really is something wrong. _

"Boss really liked it. Futaba said it got him all teary-eyed, so it's kind of a waste we haven't been able to properly record anything else, given how busy everyone is." 

A sigh. "... You've been worried about the band ever since the beginning of the second semester, haven't you? "

Ren's lips flatten into a pale, thin line, gaze hidden behind dark curls. He's a completely different person from the one who looked at him with the most heartbreaking of honesties in a scarcely lit backstage. A charming contradiction that is reflected in Ren's music, a music that gently cradles people's deepest feelings and breathes new life into them, but that never talks about him. A contradiction that broke the chains of the past and pushed him towards the future. 

"Ren." His fingers thread into inky locks to push them up, marvel at their softness, hesitate in the recognition of a gentleness they were unaware of possessing. "If you have made your decision, follow through."

The autumnal wind howls and rattles rain against the window as if the storm outside reflected the turmoil hidden in Ren's ever-changing eyes. Is this what Ren saw in him when bringing  _ Kizuato _ to life? His teeth clench. 

"Or are you so spineless that you can't take a step forward for the fear of losing what you already have?" 

_ Show me what you've got. I won't accept being in debt with you.  _

The creases of a frown cross Ren's forehead and lead his gaze up to meet his own. 

Ren exhales slowly. A faint breath tickles his wrist. "I… won't hesitate again." 

Calloused fingers twine with his own, their warmth, the gentle bumps of the joints between thin phalanxes, the strength of their hold etched into his memory. "I look forward to the continuation of our deal." 

§

The air in the Student Council Room is warm, stifling in his lungs like right before a summer storm. Makoto taps her unmanicured nails on the wooden desk where a folder rests and bites her lower lip with a frown. Her conflicted expression accentuates her kinship with Sae-san. 

"It's been a while since we've last been all together like this" she says with a smile that struggles to hide the melancholic note in her voice. "It's… weird, since we attend the same school." 

Ann nods with vigor. Her mouth opens and closes without uttering a single word but her eyes water up. Despite his usually oblivious attitude, Sakamoto pats her back gently, jaw set and eyes downcast. 

Kitagawa straightens on the chair he was nodding off on with a creaking of wood that has Futaba jump a little. The Shujin tracksuit she borrowed who knows where oddly fits her. 

"It seems we're all been quite busy recently" Kitagawa's deep voice points out. "I've been feeling rather nostalgic of our meetings."

Okumura offers a tight smile. "It felt so lonely going to cram school after lessons instead of watching you play." 

How sentimental. Despite the striking differences among their personalities Ren and his friends truly are a perfect match, just like the protagonists of some goody-goody anime series where life is easy and the power of friendship can open all doors. 

On the rickety plastic chair next to his own, Ren takes a deep breath. The dull sound of his hands hitting the table rebounds among the walls and attracts six pairs of eyes to its source. 

"... We should disband." 

Sakamoto's chair rattles on the floor. "Hah? Dude, are you serious?" 

Ren twists his fringe between his index and thumb and Sakamoto's mouth twitches into an uncertain line topped by widened eyes. 

"No way. We're doing great, we even have a bunch of songs we can rearrange for the next time–" 

Sakamoto is loud and vulgar, often incapable of reading the atmosphere and with an innate talent for quickly getting on his nerves. 

And yet awkward sympathy tugs at his core.

People lie to themselves to protect their fragile ego from crumbling in front of harsh truths. He's been there for long enough to make the thought of it twist his guts and make blood boil in his veins, but he doesn't pity Sakamoto for sharing this similarity. 

Pity can only shatter one's pride. 

Sakamoto's mouth opens but his eyes light up and widen. A piercing gaze trails on him and morphs into a scowl. 

"... I see." Venom drips from the smile that stretches on his lips. "That's how things are, huh?" 

"Ryuji…" Ann warns in a weak voice. 

"Now that you and Akechi have hit it off, you don't need us around anymore, right? We're just dead weight for your 'superior talents'." 

Okumura lets out an audible gasp together with Ann. Makoto's hands grip the edge of the table with a sharp intake of breath. 

He crosses his arms. What a sorry sight. "I was aware of your subpar intelligence, Sakamoto, but I didn't realize the actual gravity of–" 

"I'm sorry if I gave you reasons to come to this conclusion, Ryuji" Ren says in a quiet voice. His face is a painting of artificious calm where his emotions seep through the smallest details. The slight redness of the sclerae, the involuntary clenching of the jaws, the whiteness of the skin stretched to a thin layer on the defined bumps of the knuckles. 

Ren bows his head slightly. His eyes are resolute. "I have started taking my future into serious consideration after the contest and I came to the conclusion that I won't be able to grow up both as a person and as an artist if I keep staying in a comfortable environment that I myself created. I need to confront myself with many different people and perceptions of music in order to achieve what I long for."

Kitagawa closes his eyes with a deep nod, his usual weird antics nowhere to be seen. He  _ is  _ Madarame Ichiryusai's most promising pupil, after all. "Nothing good is born out of stagnation, I agree." 

The hint of a grateful smile grazes Ren's lips with the deep bow that lets transpire that flair for theatricality he shows on stage. "Thank you for everything until now." 

§

**_Makoto:_ ** I'm very sorry about what happened yesterday. I should have spoken up to stop Ryuji from saying those hurtful things.

**_Ren:_ ** It's not your fault. Honestly, I can see why he came to that conclusion. 

**_Makoto:_ ** After that turmoil right before the contest your relationship with Goro-kun never impacted the amount of time you spent with us both as friends and as a band. 

**_Makoto:_ ** But I think this isn't something we should discuss by texting. 

**_Makoto:_ ** I… actually spoke with the others after you left. And I would like to have a proper conversation with you, so would you mind meeting me on the rooftop after school, tomorrow? 

**_Ren_ ** : Sure, I'll be there. 

§

October's sky welcomes him with wide grey clouds that hang low above his head and a breeze that brings with itself the indescribable smell of the city. 

Makoto sits on one of the old rusty desks, legs crossed and gaze crowned by a little frown lost in following the line of Aoyama-Itchome’s buildings. A gentle gust ruffles her hair and forces her to avert her eyes from the city landscape.   
  
“Ah, Ren-kun. I didn’t hear you coming.” A small smile curves her lips and lights up her face to fully show her unyielding beauty.   
  
He rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, you seemed lost in thought.”   
  
Reddish eyes widen and close with a delicate gesture. “It’s a nice place to gather your thoughts.” She cracks an eye open and a hint of mischief tints her smile. “... At least when it’s not occupied by rowdy first years playing music with an old guitar and improvised percussions.”

  
_ He and Ryuji sitting on the dirty floor, laughing until their eyes teared up. _

_ Makoto looking down at them with a scowl. _

A fond chuckle bubbles up from his chest. “Oh, c’mon, we weren’t so bad.”   
  
“The problem wasn’t the performance itself, rather the lack of discretion. This  _ is _ an off-limits area, after all" Makoto chuckles. The mischief in her gaze fades away like the outro of an old song. "But I suppose we're not here to recall the past." 

His back hits the concrete wall of the entrance, its solidity a comforting support. 

_ It's hard to set sail without drifting with the currents.  _

Makoto sighs. "First of all, I'd like to tell you that I fully understand and support your decision and that I haven't called you here to convince you to stay." Slim fingers drum on the plastic surface of the desk. "The truth is that each one of us is seriously thinking about their future. Being in the band helped us realize what we truly wanted to become because we've always been free to be ourselves. And because of that it's become a safe haven that we still are reluctant to part with. "

He stuffs a hand into his pocket and encloses his fingers around the worn-out shape of a pick. "Partings huh…" 

Her lips tremble. "None of us truly wants this to end but we're also aware that it has to, because we don't have the time to put the necessary effort to keep this going with the professionality you need and deserve."

"I don't want to part either. I only did this because…" 

"Because you felt it was your responsibility as the founder of the band, right?" The corners of her mouth struggle to lift up. Her voice is gentle like the sound of the wind. "But also because you're serious about music and as we are now – absorbed in our goals –we can't offer you the possibility of improvement you long for." 

"You know," he chuckles, "you and Goro sometimes are so similar that you might be true siblings."

Makoto stifles a laugh behind her hand. "Well, I can't deny that Goro-kun is very perceptive and more tolerable than I imagined, yes. Yesterday he stayed and discussed with the rest of us, albeit reluctantly." 

_ So dishonest with his feelings.  _

"That… sounds like him, alright."

"Actually, the most important part of what I wanted to say is something he came up with. Oh, but please, don't tell him I told you." 

"Goro came up with something?" 

"You could phrase it that way, yes." A nod. "We all agreed that disbanding is the most logical solution, but some of us still struggle with accepting the idea." 

The tearful faces of Ann and Futaba and Ryuji's scowl pop in his mind and weigh on his stomach. "... I see. "

Makoto clears her throat."'Instead of moping with that sentimental attitude of yours you could come up with a way to separate on a less sour note, if it bothers you that much'" she grumbles in the imitation of a familiar boyish voice. "And that's when Haru reminded me that we have a free time slot in the auditorium right before the end of the school festival and Ryuji yelled something like 'hell yeah, let's do this!'" 

"... You want us to play at the school festival?" 

"We could play a couple of our best songs to reduce the need for rehearsing. We even came up with a schedule that is fine with everyone." 

One last, dramatic concert before disbanding. One last chance to let their music reach people and tell them that "The Phantoms" existed and loved every second they played together. 

A sigh rises up from the depths of his chest. "I guess there's only one thing I can say here…" 

Makoto's red irises light up, her lips parted halfway to a smile like the day their music first took shape. 

A corner of his mouth curls up. "It's showtime." 

  
  


§

The bell on Leblanc's door jingles. From his usual spot behind the counter Sōjiro looks up, the welcoming sound of his "you're back, huh" mingles with Morgana's meows and another familiar voice. 

"Y-yo." Ryuji fiddles with the edge of his bright red t-shirt, his eyes fixed on the laces of his worn-out Converse. "... You up for some ramen, dude? My treat." 

His fingers reach for the unruly curls of his fringe. "Only if we're going to that place in Ogikubo."

The grin that spreads on Ryuji's face is blinding like sunlight on a summer day. "You betcha! I'll add extra ginger for extra energy!" 

"I'll pass on that." 

His eyes close with a smile. 

_ Not all partings need to be painful.  _

§

**_Ren_ ** : I have a favor to ask you. 

**_Goro:_ ** You want to write a song for the festival and you need me to help you write the lyrics. 

**_Futaba:_ ** You're more predictable than the latest season of Neo Featherman.

**_Futaba:_ ** I'll set up the studio in my room. See you in two hours. Payment in curry and coffee.

§

**_Ann:_ ** Okay, the poll results for our setlist are in! 

**_Ann:_ ** You'll open with the Scramble version of Rivers In The Desert and continue with Life Will Change

**_Ann:_ ** And for the closing… Kizuato! 

**_Haru:_ ** Uhm. I might be overstepping my boundaries saying this but… I'm not entirely sure that playing Kizuato is the right thing to do. 

**_Haru:_ ** It's a wonderful song and the public was deeply touched by the feelings it held but… 

**_Haru:_ ** I feel like it wouldn't suit this occasion. 

**_Yusuke:_ ** I must agree. It would be most appropriate to let this song belong to its legitimate owners.

**_Yusuke:_ ** Our cooperation was only a temporary catalyst. 

**_Makoto:_ ** To be honest I feel like we don't really have a song that sums up what we are now as a band. 

**_Ryuji:_ ** Yeah, I kinda get the feeling that we changed a lot 

**_Futaba:_** _Photo_10_09_20xx.jpeg_

**_Futaba:_ ** Greetings from the Sakura Recording Studios. Today on the menu we have 'The Phantoms" first work in progress for "With The Stars And Us", their final, mind blowing single! 

**_Futaba:_ ** With the lyrics and music of Joker and Crow, and the extraordinary participation of me, Navi! 

**_Ryuji:_ ** WHAT

**_Makoto:_ ** I'm really happy to hear that you three are working on a song for us all to treasure but…

**_Makoto:_ ** The festival is in two weeks. We would barely have the time to rehearse it even if you finished with the writing in a couple of days… 

**_Goro:_ ** You might have not noticed, but your so-called leader is rather prone to sentimentality. 

**_Ren:_ ** Rude

**_Goro:_ ** He's actually been working on this song ever since the beginning of the year. 

**_Goro:_ ** Me and Futaba are just lending a hand to polish the product, given the lack of time. 

**_Futaba:_ ** No worries. I abolished democracy to work the lovebirds to the bone. >:3 

**_Futaba:_ ** I'll send you all the score and the demo by tomorrow morning. 

**_Goro:_ ** We're not lovebirds. 

**_Ren:_ ** We're not?! 

**_Ryuji_ ** :... Dude. 

**_Yusuke:_** _@Makoto_ would you and _@Haru_ be alright with me drawing the poster for your concert? 

**_Yusuke:_ ** I'll make sure to produce something fitting with the grandioseness of the event. 

**_Haru:_ ** We would be honored and delighted, Yusuke-kun. 

**_Ann:_ ** The theater club owes me a favor, I'll look for something to spice up your uniforms! 

**_Futaba:_ ** The Phantoms… ASSEMBLE! 

**_Ryuji:_ ** HELL YEAH

§

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

In a condition of rest the human heart beats about eighty times a minute but can reach over a hundred beats during physical activity or in particular psychological conditions. It's amazing how such a small organ is capable of keeping a whole body up and living without ever ceasing its activity. 

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

It's loud. So much that the whispers of a crowd of black, red and white uniforms are completely engulfed by it. And yet it's calming – reassuring, even. With such an infallible inner metronome as their core, there's no way humans aren't intrinsically bound to music.

If Goro was to hear this, he would probably define him a "sentimentalist" with the usual scowl that paints his face whenever emotions are in play. His lean figure, clad in a dark turtleneck and Shujin's checkered trousers, stands up in front of a microphone. 

_ Thump. Thump. Thump. _

It blends with the tapping of his fingers on the cold surface of his own microphone. A piercing sound caters the attention of the restless crowd on the stage. The beating in his chest becomes a rhythmic tightening, like someone's plucking his heartstrings like they were a guitar's. 

He takes a deep breath. "Thank you for coming to our concert. This our final new song, 'With The Stars And Us'."

The sound of Ryuji's wooden drumsticks echoes for a single time and the notes of Futaba's piano enter with care and gentleness, like they're telling the sweetest of secrets. During rehearsal Yusuke didn't lose the occasion to nag her for it. 

  
_ "Futaba's pouting again. What did you tell her?"  _

_ "Oh, Ren." Yusuke blinked. "I simply expressed a certain degree of surprise in regards to her delicate way of playing."  _

_ "I know you don't mean any harm, but I don't think Futaba likes to be treated like some fragile child." _

_ He followed Yusuke's gaze to a small ball of orange hair curled up into a corner. Makoto's soothing murmuring filled the silence.  _

_ How strange." Yusuke's gaze softened. "I find that fragility of hers rather lovable."  _

A smile crawls on his lips. 

_ "In the endless days we lost our place of belonging…" _ Goro's voice is low, with a biting edge that is reminiscent of a dream he hasn't had in a long time. 

This moment has been gnawing at him for months and yet is different from what his imagination supplied him with. It's the end of a story he loved every moment of, but there's a soothing caress amidst the melancholic notes that have the same rhythm as his heartbeat. 

Ryuji's drums slot with the sweetness of the melody, their sound clear and steady just like his presence. 

_ "You want to make a band to help Futaba get over her trauma?" Ann took a bite of her crêpe with a blissful smile. "I mean, it's really nice of you, but I can't play any instruments."  _

_ "Hmm, I see. This is harder than I thought."  _

_ A glint lit up Ann's eyes. "Oh, I know! Why don't you ask Ryuji? He's pretty good with the drums."  _

_ "Ryuji plays the drums?"  _

_ "Yep, I think he said it helps him build resistance or something like that." With a hand under her chin, Ann looked out of the window. Sunlight broke through the thick clouds to illuminate her pensive gaze. "You can really rely on him when you're in need." _

The entrance of his guitar is sudden and powerful, its tempo in perfect synchronization with the rising of Goro's voice and Makoto's bass. 

_ "And yet all the things the eye can see aren't everything." _

  
  


_ "To be honest Sis wanted me to play something more… powerful, than a bass." Makoto dangled her legs off the edge of the old desk with a hint of fondness in her eyes.  _

_ "More powerful?"  _

_ Makoto closed her eyes with a nod. "You know, Ren-kun, the bass isn't exactly the first instrument people notice in a song." Her lean fingers caressed the sleek blue surface of the instrument in her lap. "I suppose it wouldn't make that much of a difference whether I was or not in the band."  _

_ Plastic rattled on the floor. Clad in Shujin's red tracksuit, Haru frowned at the watering can at her feet. "That's not true!" Her gaze searched for Makoto, unwavering. "It  _ would _ make a huge difference, Mako-chan! The bass is one of the foundations of a band, the songs wouldn't be the same without it, just as me and the others wouldn't be the same without your support!"  _

_ A faint pink splashed Makoto's cheeks. "Thank you, Haru. Really." _

His chords hang in the air and fade away in an echo, together with the piano and the bass. The drums keep a steady rhythm, distinct but not overbearing to the point of drowning the lyrics. 

Maybe someone might protest that this song is oddly simple for the standards of the band, but sometimes simplicity is the best thing when it comes to telling a story.

_ "Even if we're apart, we'll be watching the same stars. That's why today we say goodbye." _

Just like the memories they built together, the notes accumulated like black drops in the pristine container of the score and Goro makes them his own to engrave himself in that part of his life. 

He sings the pain that comes with the end of a wonderful adventure with his eyes closed, the hands that grip the microphone stand with a force that turns his knuckles white. He cries out in his stead the words he built up in the previous two years to let him harbor the seed of new emotions. 

Their gazes meet and the blurry edges of a picture form in his mind. A sunlit room and the voice of his guitar that becomes one with Goro's with the same ease as breathing. 

The unknown that is the future isn't so scary, after all. 

_ "Let's search for our future with our hearts." _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs featured in this chapter are:
> 
> \- Ideal and The Real (End Ver.) from P5R's soundtrack (it's the song Ren composed for Sumire, and the one she skates on in this chapter)  
> \- Feeling Good - Muse  
> \- Hoshi To Bokura To - Lyn Inaizumi  
>  Friendly reminder that you can find all the songs featured in the story (and more) in the playlist linked in the first chapter!


	4. Winter - Sweet Dreams (are made of this)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality isn't as exciting as in the movies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so much to say about this story but it would probably bore you all to death, so I'll limit myself to give another giant thank you to @saikolikes, by beta, moral support, sharer of headcanons and @lia_404, who patiently listened to all my screaming about a certain scene by the end of the chapter (which is also the reason why I'm so LATE with the final update.
> 
> As usual, there are several rather famous songs quoted here and there, and you can find them all on the Spotify playlist I made for this story, but I'll list the titles in the endnotes!

_ "Maybe there's a God above _

_ But, all I've ever learned from love _

_ Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you? _ _ "  _

[Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley ] 

  
  


The firm shape of the pick between his fingers caresses six strings and produces the familiar sound of a G chord. The lacquered wood of the violin held in Haru's delicate hands shines a warm hue of brown in the dim lights of Jazz Jin. The bow slides in a graceful movement on the thin strings and lets out a shrill sound that mimics that of his guitar. 

"Are you really okay with this, Haru? 

A poised nod. "Of course. Stéphane Grappelli is one of my greatest inspirations and it's an honor for me to play his part in your exhibition."

Goro hummed. "I wasn't aware that you played the violin, Okumura."

"Oh, just 'Haru' is fine, please." A sweet smile. "But yes, I've been playing since I was 8 but due to an unfortunate accident my violin was severely damaged and grandfather entrusted it to a distinguished acquaintance of his for the repairs."

Goro's eyes widened slightly and his posture shifted. "I take it that you're also an estimator of Jazz music, then."

"Yes, very much so. To be honest, I aim to take on and renew the family business after graduating from college." Hazel irises lit up. "I would like to open a café with similar vibes to this place. So this is a very valuable experience in many ways, to me." 

His fingers wrap tightly around the neck of his guitar.

_ Goro leaned his back against a vending machine. The neon lights illuminated the smirk on his face. "Your music was particularly sentimental, tonight." _

_ His gaze dipped into the darkness of Shujin's inner courtyard. "I guess I wanted to leave a proof of our existence in this place."  _

_ "This isn't even your final year in this school." The buzzing of the machines filled the air. "But I suppose it's fine for you to indulge in sentimentalism on this particular occasion." _

_ His back hit a cold surface. The contrast between the cold glass and the warmth of Goro's proximity had goosebumps rise all over his skin. "I have to build things from scratch again, now." _

_ "Have you decided what you want to do?" _

_ He sighed. "Yup, but I still have no idea of how to get there." _

_ "I figured there isn't just a single way to reach an objective." Goro crossed his arms, gaze distant. "Use your brain to find your own."  _

_ A smile. "Yeah. I have a promise to keep."  _

A gentle hand squeezes his shoulder. Haru flashes him a kind smile. "It's our turn, Ren-kun."

"Stop daydreaming,  _ Joker _ ." Goro's back is wide, a constant that appeared on each important stage he stepped on. "I won't accept being dragged down by you."

Their shoulders bump. "As if,  _ Crow _ ." 

The wooden stage creaks under their steps. Haru sits in a graceful motion on the stool next to his own and straightens her back to position the violin under her chin with her eyes focused. 

Russet eyes glance at him. " _ Show me what you've been holding back _ ", they challenge, and his fingers search for their righteous place on the strings of the guitar that has been with him ever since the beginning. 

Phantom pain tingles in the hardened tips, a memory of the years of learning to play the music he loved. An acoustic solo on three chords is easy on the surface, but the sounds are not singular entities, they tie to each other in sequences of smooth legatos, like each one of them is a whim of the moment, an emotion that bursted out suddenly. 

The underlying edge of roughness of Goro's voice overlaps with the one of a young David Gilmour singing the feeling of longing in his headphones, the words "I want to play this emotion" clearly shaped by his thoughts. 

_ "So, do you think you can tell Heaven from Hell?" _ __

G major, C major, A minor, D major, repeated with a series of strums that flow naturally from his wrist as a 'thank you' for all those years these sweet yet melancholic chords were played without really knowing what missing someone felt like. 

_ "Can you tell a green field from a cold steel rail? A smile from a veil?" _ __

But Goro knows, and the same lacerating longing that filled his voice the first time he heard him sing comes out from the lyrics that don't belong to him but he makes his own.

His chest aches.

It's a gentle pain, a wound that bleeds sluggishly from time to time but never truly closes. 

The entrance of Haru's violin is shaky, like it fears intruding in such a delicate emotion but the notes reach higher and higher to come with a mutual understanding with his guitar. Her strong heart and empathy seep into the music and catalyze, gentle yet unyielding, the explosion of the deepest feelings enclosed in the crescendo. 

_ "We're just two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl, year after year. Running over the same old ground, what have we found?" _

Goro's voice cracks. It's a sound so beautiful that it's as if it was meant to be there from the beginning. 

_ "The same old fears. Wish you were here… _ " 

Just like two sides of one coin, they're the same at their very core. 

§

The white surface of a thin rectangle of paper is rough against his fingers, weighs like the singularity of a black hole. The ideograms of the name 'Satō Takahiro' are spelled in a neat font and surmount a long name written in western characters of which he can only understand the name 'Paris'. 

The man called 'Satō' bows his head of grey and black hair in a courteous gesture. "I witnessed your performance this summer and what I saw here today confirmed my intuition. If you wish to pursue your studies in the musical field this place might interest you."

Goro crosses his arms, his eyes narrowed. "You spoke about a certain 'intuition'. It sounds rather shady, if I may say so."

A quiet chuckle engulfs Jazz Jin's usual chattering. "Your concerns are understandable, given my sudden intrusion. The  _ Académie des Sept Soeurs  _ is a somewhat recent institution but I can guarantee for its professionalism." Satō offers a polite smile. "If you're interested, you can find the application forms for a scholarship and all the information you need on the website. The deadline is on November 22nd and the results will be communicated via mail within December 10th." 

A frown deepens between his brows. Hair sticks to his damp forehead. "A scholarship?" 

"Indeed" Satō nods. "The academy offers a fully paid scholarship to five graduated students chosen after a selection."

A subtle electric current buzzes beneath his skin, like he's about to step on the stage once again. "So a high school diploma is a requirement?" 

"Yes. As of now the Academy can only offer college-level courses, but the board of directors is evaluating the possibility of opening a high school branch in the next years." Satō glances at the wristwatch peeking from a sleeve of his gray suit and adjusts his silver-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose. "It's been a pleasure hearing you play but I'm afraid I must excuse myself. I look forward to your growth."

With the same suddenness he approached them, Satō Takahiro bows his head in a polite gesture and disappears among the sea of tables. 

"Well, if that wasn't Satō-san. It's kinda rare seeing him around here." 

He turns around. Muhen's tall figure stands still, his face directed towards the exit. A startle. 

"Oh," Muhen smiles, "good job you two. Tonight's been even better than usual." 

His mouth opens but Goro's voice prevents any sound from escaping it. 

"Do you know that man, Muhen?" 

"Ah, yeah, that's Satō Takahiro-san. He was a jazz trumpetist that worked in the industry" he says with a shrug. "The youngsters he used to send here to play were always of another league but now he works outside of Japan. I think he's the director of some music school." 

Goro's russet irises quiver and light up with a sudden spark. His lips part slightly but close without a sound together with his fists. 

It's a new facet, another step forward on that path Goro proudly announced he would carve, and he's so beautiful that it cuts a small tear in his heart, the beginning of an unavoidable process of being torn apart. 

_ They're all gonna leave me behind.  _

§

Ryuji wolfs down a mouthful of curry and points the silver spoon towards the old CRT with emphasis. "Fumire-fhan's much beffer than the other girls!" 

Yusuke nods solemnly. "Yes, her performance was quite the enchanting show." 

"She really became one with the song Ren composed." Makoto drinks what remains of her coffee with a smile. "At this rate she really might reach the final." 

Ann's ponytails bounce with her vigorous nod. "She must have worked so hard, I heard that figure skating training is grueling." 

On the screen Sumire gets off the ice and the familiar figure of her coach wraps her in a tight hug. 

"Oh, I think they're gonna announce her score, she's heading towards the kiss and cry" Haru says, her eyes glued to the small appliance. 

Futaba squeezes Goro's arm like it's her favorite dakimakura and mutters something along the lines of "whack their ass, Sumi". Remarkably enough, Goro tolerates the octopus attack, his attention completely stolen by the voice announcing a rather high score. 

"Yes!" Futaba jumps from her seat and swings her arms up, hitting a frowning Goro in the process, but her smile fades into a grimace. 

On the screen the chart signs Yoshizawa Sumire in second place, just a few points away from a russian skater. 

"That's not fair! Sumi was way better than her!" 

Haru offers a gentle pat on the back. "Calm down, Futaba-chan. Evgenia Nedvedeva won the gold medal in last year's finals and she's one of this years' favorites as well." 

"Yoshizawa-san still isn't out of the competition." Goro places the white porcelain cup on the saucer with a clink. "If she gets at least a silver medal in France, she'll have access to the final. But given the tough competition, I think she'll have to increase the difficulty of her jumps." 

A smile surfaces on his lips. "Sumire is strong-willed and hardworking. I'm sure she will give nothing short of her best." 

_ I saw that flower grow up to full bloom, after all.  _

The door of Leblanc jingles accompanied by a gust of autumnal air and reveals Sōjiro's figure. 

"Jeez, young miss' performance's already over" he grumbles. Behind the thin-rimmed glasses his eyes settle on him. "I've got urgent mail for you, kid."

"Mail?" 

Sōjiro slides a white envelope on the counter. His neck prickles under the pressure of numerous gazes but his fingers work on the paper with deftness.

Futaba leans over her seat. "Huh? A letter and some tickets?" 

Ann blinks. "Did you sign up for that pen pals program I told you about?" 

On the white piece of paper the characters of his name stare back at him, accompanied by several rows of text written in neat ideograms. 

"C'mon dude, what does it say?" 

Makoto shoots a pointed glare to Ryuji. "It might be from Ren's parents. It's not our business." 

"No," he shakes his head. "It's… it's from Sumire. I'll read it to you."

_ "Dear Ren-senpai, _

_ I hope you, Akechi-senpai and the others are well. Thanks to Kasumi I was able to see a recording of your performance at the school festival during a pause from my training. I loved your new song so much and I really regret not being able to hear it in person.  _

_ I'm writing this as I'm about to head to Moscow for my first Grand Prix competition. If it weren't for your song and the influence Akechi-senpai had on it, I doubt I would have come this far. So thank you, for seeing in me what I refused to acknowledge and for supporting me.  _

_ Even though I don't feel like this is enough to repay the gratitude I feel towards you, I took the liberty to ask for two tickets for my competition in France with the selfish hope of having you cheer for me once again. _

_ Until next time,  _

_ Yoshizawa Sumire" _

_ P.S: Needless to say, the second ticket is meant for Akechi-senpai. Paris is the most romantic city of the world! :)  _

_ What a lovely little imp.  _

Sōjiro sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "Sheesh, that Yoshizawa is a good kid. She even phoned me and Niijima-san to ask for our permission, before sending this." 

Makoto jolts. "Sis?!" 

"Niijima-san told me there's a music academy in Paris you and Akechi are interested in." 

Goro's eyes widen slightly and meet his own. It's all happening too fast, too suddenly for his brain to actually catch on things properly. Words struggle to come out of his throat. 

"Yeah, but… I mean, I'm still in second year, so I can't really apply for the scholarship." 

Sōjiro's eyebrow quirks up with a twist of his mouth. "So what. You're old enough to make decisions for your future and taking a look is not a commitment." His eyes soften. "Not wasting opportunities is a good way to avoid regrets when you're older."

"I'm sorry Sakura-san," Goro says with a frown, "but while Yoshizawa-san's gift is very thoughtful, there are several problems that still are unaddressed, such as the accommodation for the night and the plane tickets. Not to mention the school's permission for skipping two days of lessons." 

Sōjiro shoots him an unfathomable glance and hangs his fedora with a nonchalant gesture. The sound of his slightly dragged steps engulfs the low chatter of the TV and is stopped by the snapping of a lighter. 

A puff of smoke. "Well, that's already been taken care of by your guardian, kid."

_ Stop it.  _

A lopsided smile forms on Sōjiro's face. "We figured that a one night two days trip shouldn't be that much of a problem. You can consider this an investment for your futures." 

_ "You can't live of dreams alone!" A scowl formed between his mother's perfectly made up eyes. "Do you really want to throw your life away for something as fruitless as music?"  _

Ryuji stands up with a rattle of the stool. "Hey, what's with those faces? You look like two stockfishes." A blinding smile. "We're all on your side, y'know."

His lips part but no sound comes out. Since he and Goro decided to set foot into the more professional side of music they behaved like there wasn't a single soul who would have supported their silent agreement, ignoring how they were surrounded by people – some of which were adults, even! – who truly believed they could do it. 

Goro clears his throat, his gaze firmly determined to avoid any of the presents. "... I suppose it's settled, then."

Laughter bubbles up from his warmth-filled chest. They just really have a knack for foolishness. 

"Yeah, I guess it is." 

§

The crowd's cheers roar in the air of the rink. Yoshizawa Sumire, back straight and a smile brighter than the silver embroidery of her costume, waves back at the public. From her neck a bronze medal dangles at her every movement. 

"You look like you've just seen your cat running away from home" Goro says with a quirked eyebrow. "Yoshizawa-san will definitely scold you if she sees you making such a face." 

His fingers tighten around the cold metal of the bleacher's handrail. "I know. I just wanted to see her hard work pay off."

"That's very stupid of you to say", he scowls. "This year Yoshizawa was the only female skater to attempt and almost successfully land a triple axel. She pushed most of her jumps in the second half of her program to score more points and to better fit your song. Had she had more time to build her resistance she would have probably avoided most of the mistakes she did due to fatigue. Both her step sequences and spins received very high scores and her performance and your music were widely appreciated by the public."

"The public?" 

"I couldn't grasp all the details, since I'm still not particularly versed in the language, but some of the people sitting around us expressed very positive comments in that regard." Goro sighs and crosses his arms but his gaze wanders towards the podium. "What I mean to say is… She might have not made it to the finals, but she also showed a vast amount of unexpressed potential. I'm sure we'll see her name in many international competitions, from now on." 

Sumire steps down on the ice with a wonderful bouquet of roses in her arms but her gaze rises towards their seats. A slim arm waves wildly at them and the image of a red-haired girl in glasses overlaps with that of the beautiful woman on the ice. 

_ "Senpai, I've been waiting for you!" _

_ His arm waved back spontaneously. "Ah, Sumire-chan. You look happy. Did something good happen?"  _

_ "Yes!" Her cheeks, red from the cold, puffed up with her toothy smile. "I had my first prefectural competition yesterday!"  _

_ "Eh?! You should have told me, I would have come to see you."  _

_ Sumire shook her head and dark copper hair escaped from the hold of her pink scarf to drop gently on her shoulders. "You had club practice, yesterday, I couldn't let you ditch! Besides, I didn't even win."  _

_ His fingers curled around a hand clad in warm wool. "Let's go get some nikuman from the konbini to cheer you up."  _

_ "But I'm not sad." Her breath came out in a small white puff. "I did my very best and the next time I will do even better!"  _

His hand rises up and waves, caught up between past and present. "We are all doing what we can, aren't we?" 

Next to him Goro scowls like he's desperately trying to hide his displeasure after picking the wrong takoyaki in a russian roulette but his hand waves awkwardly at the ice. "I'd appreciate you coming back to your senses more if you stopped talking like some shōnen manga protagonist." 

The leather of Goro's gloves is warm against his fingers. He tugs gently. "Let's walk back to the hotel and grab something to eat on the way." 

§

**_Sumire:_ ** Thanks for coming to see me today! 

**_Sumire:_ ** I'll come pick you up tomorrow morning at 10 AM, I spotted a café that makes a really nice brunch. I'm sure both you and Akechi-senpai will like it! 

**_Sumire:_ ** Sorry senpai, I know this is not my business but I don't want you to have regrets. 

**_Sumire_ ** : I know you and Akechi-senpai have your own way of communicating things. But sometimes other people's words aren't enough to hint at what's going on inside us. 

**_Sumire:_ ** You're very good at understanding people, senpai, and I didn't lie when I said that your music reflects this amazing quality. 

**_Sumire:_ ** Right now, in this crucial moment of your lives, I think you and Akechi-senpai should try to truly understand each other. 

**_Sumire:_ ** Loving someone or having a dream aren't weaknesses, even if they are things that may not make sense to others. 

§

Paris' late autumn nights are different from Tokyo's. The air carries the pungent smell of the cold rain that drenched the city during the morning and is pregnant with an earthy fragrance of unfamiliar trees and streets despite being under the same sky of Yongen-Jaya. 

"This place is nice, don't you think, Goro?" The sound of his steps disappears among countless blades of grass. "I didn't notice it was so close to our hotel. Though I guess Niijima-san didn't choose it casually." 

Despite being so close to one of the pulsating hearts of the city, the Nelson Mandela Garden is quiet, so much that he could be the last man on earth if the irregular rhythm of Goro steps didn't echo his own. 

"Ren." The rhythm halts. "I have no intention of wasting any more time, so speak up." 

"Always so harsh”, he sighs. "You know, I think I owe you an apology. I've always talked like I'm the only one who's dead serious about music but in the end I suppose I never truly gave it my best shot. At least not if I compare my half-assed way of doing things to the way you, Sumire and the others work towards your goals."

Goro scoffs. "Is that all? If you have time to wallow in self-pity then–" 

"No. Goro, please. Listen."  _ Or I won't be able to say it anymore _ . "The reason why I live in the storage room of a back-alley café and work so many part-time jobs are my parents."

"... Go on." 

"It's nothing tragic or particularly dramatic." He shrugs. "They hold the simple conviction that a person can't make a living and be a respectable member of society by making music. So we made a deal. I get to play music in the big city, and if I accomplish anything noteworthy before I graduate I'm free to do anything I want with my life."

A frown forms between Goro's eyebrows. "This makes no sense. If you transferred to Tokyo with the intention of becoming a professional musician, why didn't you go to a school focused on arts like Kōsei?" 

The gaze of russet eyes bores holes into his skin. He lets out a small breath and smiles."... why, I wonder. "

The sound of a sharp inhale disrupts the grounding melody of Goro's regular breathing. Thick leather squelches."... there has never been a deal, hasn't it?" 

He looks up. Despite the darkness no stars are visible in the sky. "Do you know what Shujin's motto is?" 

"True freedom lies within the constructs of society." He shakes his head. "I see. Shujin High is usually attended by students who aim at good colleges. The teachers are strict and the workload makes it difficult getting both good grades and enough time to seriously practice activities not advised by the school itself. They intended to… reform you since the beginning."

He nods. "During the first semester, not long before meeting you, my parents stopped sending me money and paying my rent because I didn't place in the top 5 during my first year's finals."

"Given Sakura-san's tendency to adopt stray teenagers I suppose he asked you to help with the shop to give you an excuse not to pay the rent." Goro crosses his arms. "Sometimes adults are far more childish than they'd like to admit but this isn't a justification for your lack of dedication." 

"Honestly, I thought of my parents' opposition as some obstacle that I had to overcome at all costs" he says wryly. "I realized only recently how much I was letting all this hold me back, so now I have to double my efforts to catch up." 

Soft steps come closer. "When the time comes your obnoxious straightforwardness will compensate for your momentary spinelessness, I suppose."

"I'm sorry that I can't give you a proper answer about the academy but I want to sift through all my possibilities before making a decision." 

_ A few wise people warned me about regrets, after all. _

"Being straightforward and being rash are two different things" Goro chides with a sigh. "You still have a whole year to make up your mind but don't expect me to sit here and watch." 

"Tell me  _ your _ intentions, then." 

"… I'm going to apply for the scholarship." In the dim light of the park his eyes look at the sky to melt into liquid garnet. "I won't run away. My voice still isn't loud enough." 

It's another small tear in his heart. It pulses with an ache that dulls with every beat but never truly fades, takes the shape of a worn-out word. 

_ Love, love will tear us apart again.  _

§

**_Goro:_ ** I told Muhen we won't be able to play this week. 

**_Ren:_ ** Thanks. With exams in the middle I barely have the time to sleep. 

**_Ren:_ ** When will you graduate? 

**_Goro:_ ** Right after winter break, if my results are satisfying. 

**_Goro:_ ** Sae-san has given her authorization and Kawakami kindly interceded with Kobayakawa, so most things are already settled.

**_Ren:_ ** I see. 

**_Goro:_ ** Ren.

**_Goro:_ ** Don't make plans for the 24th.

**_Goro:_ ** There's a place I want to visit.

§

The key smoothly enters the lock of the old house he shared with his mother, its metal cold enough to be a threat even with a layer of dark leather warding his skin. The mechanism clicks with surprising ease that contrasts with the low lament of the door opening on a pitch back dimension. "You may enter here as you please," it warns with its groan, "but you might not like what you'll find." It's not enough to discourage him, he wouldn't forgive himself if he turned his back at this point. 

The small pool of snow fallen from the hole rust has eaten in the canopy crunches under his shoes. "Watch your feet, there's no electricity." 

Ren's quiet steps follow behind. The door shuts with another groan and the black hole swallows them. Claws of freezing air grasp at his face, the pungent smell of mold and years of neglection invisible storytellers of bitter-worded play. 

A pale light flashes at his back and draws the soft lines of white sheets draped upon ghosts of memories carefully set aside.

Ren's voice fills the silence with a soft gasp. "Oh, let me see if this–" 

A bare light bulb flickers on with a buzz to reveal a room barely wide enough for him to move without stumbling in the lean silhouette by the doorway. 

"The energy meter is the same as Leblanc's. The complex's power is centralized, so they couldn't cut-off a single apartment." Ren's shoulders shake in a small shrug and his gaze falls on his feet. "Sorry, it's not very polite to enter someone's house without taking my shoes off. Old habits die hard."

He blinks and his eyes follow the splash of dark curls bow down to leave a pair of camel-colored ankle boots by the door. "Nobody has lived here since my mother's death" he says casually. "According to Sae-san the landlord hasn't been able to rent this place due to its… reputation."

Slate eyes look at him with an unspoken question. Tiptoeing around the problem won't bring them anywhere. "Yes, she died here. I didn't really see her body until later, though, so she looked like she was sleeping." 

"Do you remember this place?" Ren's voice is soft yet clear. 

"Kind of. It's been four years but even before then I didn't spend too much time here." His hands tug at a sheet covering something particularly tall. Beyond the cloud of dust, a cheap-looking bookcase looms over. "Still. I suppose it's time I face this as well." 

The damaged tatami mats crunch softly under Ren's steps. An arm clad in a gray trench coat reaches for a framed photo on the tallest shelf, its content obscured by a thick layer of dust. Lean fingers trace lines on the surface with the same care and gentleness they pluck the strings of a guitar with. A familiar face smiles at him. 

_ "What about Goro?" Sae asked with an indignant look. "He's still a child, he needs someone to take care of him!"  _

_ His father scoffed, his mouth twisted in disgust. "He looks too much like that woman. Do whatever you want with him."  _

"You look a lot like her" Ren says with the most delicate hint of fondness in his voice. 

Cold air flows into his lungs with a force that makes his eyes sting. "I think this was taken on the day she turned thirty. I was twelve, at the time."

"Such a cute child." A chuckle condenses into a thin cloud of smoke. "She must have loved you a lot."

"I… don't really know. She didn't exactly plan to have me." He swallows bitter saliva. "I think she really loved that scumbag that was my father. But to him, she was probably one of the many he kept around." 

Ren frowns but his gaze is unclouded. "Your father… is he still alive?" 

"No." He shakes his head. "Not long after leaving me and my mother he was involved in a political scandal that ruined his career before it could really take off and dilapidated whatever money he had on drugs and alcohol. He died of heart failure while trying to force himself on a woman."

_ The most appropriate way to die for a good-for-nothing bastard.  _

Firm hands push the frame into his grip. "You should take this with you." 

"I don't need your pity" he spats. 

"It's not pity." Ren looks at him with earnest eyes under black curls, with transparency that invites him to pry into his soul were he to doubt the honesty of his words. "But you're singing for her as well, so you definitely need this." 

He stands no chance. "... fine." 

"I'll go check the other corner." Ren shrugs. "You should look for other pictures." 

He wouldn't define his existence as "miserable". In the few faded memories of the times they shared this room – where the echo of her unfair death is still trapped among the walls – she smiles. She made sure he went to school and did his homework. She used to take him to the bathhouse and washed his hair, always humming the same slightly off-tune melody. 

A painfully out-of-tune piano tears the silence apart with the sequence of notes that stitched together all the scattered, unfitting pieces of his life. 

"I didn't know you played the piano." 

Ren, sitting on the stool in front of the old instrument, offers a sheepish smile. "Futaba taught me the basics but I never practice, so I kinda suck at it." 

The stuffed bench creaks under the addition of his weight. His shoulder bumps against Ren's. "The tuning is off. Try a lower octave to compensate." 

A chord rebounds among silent walls. "So… she's the reason why you know so much about music, I guess." 

"She used to give piano lessons in the afternoon." Leather caresses the black and white keys. The thin layer of dust softens the friction and leaves a gray spot on the fabric. "It was an involuntary consequence."

Deft fingers wrap around his wrist. Ren is warm, the most alive thing in the apartment, in his life. "Was she a good singer?" 

"No, she was terrible." Hardened pads skim beyond the sleeve of his camel coat and indulge on the gentle bumps of the veins, on the soft flesh beyond which lies the beat of his heart. "Her students teased her all the time."

A finger slips under the edge of his glove. 

"Have you ever sung for her?" Ren's voice is low yet casual, as if he isn't reshaping him in the very same way he transmutes the scribbles of a score into music.

Another finger. His palm burns. "... sometimes, when she needed to show how a difficult passage should have sounded. " 

_ " _ _ That was very good, Goro!" she smiled, two dimples at the corners of her mouth. Her gaze shifted towards her pupil. "Hey, wasn't my son very good?"  _

_ When truly happy, she was the brightest.  _

The glove falls on the keys with a faint sound and pale fingers twine with his own. His chest aches. 

"Do you miss her?" Ren breathes, close enough to let him count the dark lashes that frame his eyes. 

His vision blurs. "... It would be pointless to do so." 

"No, it wouldn't." The smallest smile sketches the arc of Ren's lips. "Every time you sing, you're screaming how much you miss her." 

Fabric rustles and a hand rises towards his neck. Scorching warmth sparks where its fingers apply the gentlest of touches and silver irises light up in recognition. 

"It's beating so fast" Ren whispers with awe in every word. "You're  _ alive _ ." 

And it should be one of those obvious statements that have him spat sarcastic retorts but Ren speaks like the simple act of him being there, with a heart that mourns with every single beat is the most important thing in his life. 

A thumb traces the edge of his jaw like it's following a ballad's score. It's too gentle to anger him, so hesitant that it might be a question. And it's very much like Ren to answer a question with another question, to let their silent conversation take a completely different turn. 

Ren kisses him slowly, as if to give him the time to put his conclusion into proper words and be grateful for a moment of refrain from the merciless flow of time. 

_ I sing to keep you alive. _

_ I sing because music is what binds me to you and Ren.  _

§

**_Futaba:_ ** So, when will you be back in Tokyo? 

Quick steps approach his room. Sae's face pops out of the doorframe with a light smile. "Goro, I'm going out to buy the souvenir I promised Makoto. Do you need anything?" 

"No, I'm saving up space for tonight's dinner" he says with a hint of mischief. French cuisine  _ is _ famous, after all. "Be careful, though. Big cities tend to be a little wild during New Year's Eve." 

"Your concerns are misplaced."

"Of course." 

_ I wouldn't want to be in an eventual aggressor's shoes. _

The cream-colored surface of his bed trembles slightly. Sae shoots him a curious glance. "Why don't you answer?" 

"Using the phone while you're talking to me wouldn't be very polite." He smiles. "Besides, I'm sure it's not particularly important." 

With a smooth gesture her hand Sae adjusts her bag on the shoulder and takes a step back. "I'm heading out, there's no need to mind me." Her gaze softens. "We're already done with the house-hunting and midnight strikes in an hour in Tokyo. You should get in touch with your friends and Amamiya-kun." 

With her cleverness and strong personality, Sae is nice. Nicer than all the relatives who were supposed to take care of him in the past four years and maybe  _ too  _ nice when it comes to his interpersonal relationships. 

He swallows a defeated sigh."I'll make sure to send proper New Year's greetings to everyone." 

_ In the group chat. After turning off notifications.  _

Sae offers a satisfied smile but whatever consideration is sketched on her red-painted lips is swallowed by the sound of a voice as angry and impetuous as the guitar and the drums that play with it coming from his phone. 

_ "I am a world before I am a man. I was a creature before I could stand." _

He ignores the quirked eyebrow on Sae's face and stretches his arm to retrieve the incriminated object from the comforter. The screen changes from his lock screen – a black and white sketch of a man shaking the hand of another man enveloped by flames gifted him by Kitagawa – to a video phone call. 

"Didn't anyone tell you that it's illegal to hack into people's phones?" 

On the display, Sakura Futaba shoots him a devilish grin. "Didn't Ren tell you that it's not wise ignoring me?" 

"Isn't it almost midnight in Tokyo?" A corner of his mouth lifts into a smirk. "Good children shouldn't be up this late." 

"Next time I'm gonna change your ringtone into Featherman's opening and let the world know what a closeted nerd you are" Futaba pouts. 

"Whatever." No internet search chronology is safe when orange-haired obnoxious gremlins are involved. "Shouldn't you be visiting the temple with Ren and Sakura-san?" 

Dark purple eyes soften. "We'll be going soon. Ren's still holed up in his room killing forests by using every possible paper surface to write music so dad's gone to drag him out of there." 

"I suppose he can put the right effort into things that interest him." 

_ At the cost of being stubborn to the point of worrying those who care about him.  _

A door clicks in the distance. Futaba averts her gaze and her tiny shoulders heave with a silent sigh. "... did you find a house?"

Although in a different way from Ren, the members of the Sakura family hold a penchant for straightforwardness that makes it hard for him not to appreciate them. "I did. Unsurprisingly, Sae-san is a good bargainer."

"I… see. When will you move in?" 

"My graduation ceremony is set as soon as winter break ends and I'll have to be back in Paris within the first week of February." 

"Ann and Sumire are already planning a party in your honor" Futaba says with a hint of sadistic amusement. She looks up and her eyes bore holes in the screen with the intensity of her stare. "Does Ren know about this?" 

He inhales and his throat tightens. Honesty is not pleasant when he's the one being questioned. "... he does." 

"Whatever your intentions are, make sure to talk with him about them." 

With her slightly furrowed brows and unflinching eyes, Futaba looks like an angry mascot straight out of a game but the sharp edge of the words she uses as her weapon is definitely not a joke. 

"He's working this hard for himself, but also because he wants to be on equal ground with you." 

_ I wouldn't accept it in any other way. _ "I'll keep that in mind." 

Her eyes widen and with a series of indistinct crackling noises and her face is replaced with a black screen and the words. " _ Call Ended. 31/12/20xx. 00.13.52. _ " 

His phone buzzes. 

**_Futaba:_ ** Dad and Ren came to pick me up

**_Futaba:_ ** We're going to the sanctuary in Shibuya

**_Futaba:_ ** Don't try to ignore me if you don't want to wake up with the filthiest GreyRed fanarts as your background

He sighs. 

**_Goro:_ ** I don't have a choice, do I? 

**_Futaba:_ ** No u don't 

**_Futaba:_ ** Only 20 mins to midnight 

**_Futaba:_ ** Keep me company 

**_Goro:_ ** Go annoy Ren, if you crave entertainment. 

**_Futaba:_ ** They're talking about school

**_Futaba:_ ** Like me skipping a grade is such a big thing 

**_Goro:_ ** You're going to skip a grade? 

**_Futaba:_ ** Yup, took online courses and exams

**_Futaba:_ ** This spring I'll be in the same grade as Sumi 

**_Goro:_ ** Congratulations, then. 

**_Futaba:_ ** 10 mins

**_Futaba:_ ** it's packed and it's also snowing 

**_Goro:_ ** Watch your steps or you'll get squished. 

**_Futaba:_ ** Rude! 

**_Futaba:_ ** Short people will rule the world. 

**_Goro:_ ** I don't think I've ever said anything regarding your height. 

**_Futaba:_ ** HAPPY NEW YEAR

**_Futaba:_ ** here's your reward for putting up with me

**_Futaba:_** _attachment_

A picture fills up the screen of his phone. Ren, clad in a grey coat and a black turtleneck and with snowflakes in his unruly hair, stands among out of focus blotches of darkness with his gaze fixed on the sky. The slow strokes of a bell echo in his head and Ren turns around in a flash, his low voice an unusual yet fitting harmony with the deep, rhythmic sound. 

_ "Happy new year, Goro." _

**_Futaba:_ ** Don't keep him waiting too long

**_Futaba:_ ** He's doing his best not to make you wait, too. 

§

Yongen-Jaya, with its narrow and dirty alleys and unmaintained buildings, is a place that never held any appeal. 

Snow creaks under his shoes. Under the milky darkness of the sky, the roads he begrudgingly grew acquainted with are more desolate than ever. In the late evening's reverential silence, Ren's "have a safe trip", spoken in a quiet voice and with pitifully downcast eyes, hangs on in each white puff of his breath. 

Most people tend to see goodbyes as something definitive and tragic, with a plethora of tearful words and theatrical gestures that hold no real meaning. The only irreversible thing in life is death. It’s not as if he or Ren is going to disappear forever at the breaking of dawn, so there’s absolutely nothing wrong with parting in total absence of drama, like the two adults they will soon become.   
His fingers curl around the phone in his coat’s pocket. The display lights up to show a particularly flattering picture of his mother’s piano and white numbers and letters glare at him that it’s ten minutes to 10 PM on February 2nd. Only twelve hours away from his flight.

  
  
**_Goro:_ ** I’m heading to Kichijoji to say goodbye to Muhen. I’ll be home past train hours.

**_Sae-san:_ ** Alright, I trust your sense of responsibility, but be careful.

  
  
His footprints stare back at him like a traitorous reminder of where he stands. In front of him, the still unblemished part of the road that leads to the station extends in an unusual path of pure white.

A frustrated sound forces itself out of his throat to freeze in an evanescent cloud. He turns on his heels and moves his legs in large strides that become a run.

"... dammit." 

By walking on the stage on that summer night he made an oath not to run away anymore. From himself, from music, from the memories of the time he shared with his mother. From Ren. 

His labored breaths mingle with the familiar jingle of a bell and the creaking of old hinges.  _ Ren must have forgotten to lock up.  _

Café Leblanc is enshrouded in darkness. The dim light of the streetlamps filtering through the glass door sketches in vague lines its vintage decor, devoid of the presence of its owner and the rowdy bunch of teenagers that filled the quaint space until not long before. The tapping of his feet is deafening on the wooden floor just as the creaking of the stairs that lead up to the attic, so ominous and unfamiliar as if he's been transported to another place entirely. 

The weak light of an oil heater casts an orange hue on the poor excuse of a futon propped on wooden crates. Like a splotch of black ink accompanied by the delicate sound of unplugged strings, Ren strums his fiery red  _ Diavoletto _ on the thin mattress, ears covered by a pair of headphones. 

His teeth clench. He takes a stride forward to let his body cast a tall, looming shadow that fends the cone of light. Slowly, quicksilver rises to meet his figure. 

"Goro? What are you– Did you forget something?" 

_ I could ask the same to you.  _

  
“... I hate having unfinished business.”   
  


The headphones drop at the base of Ren’s neck with a crackling of plastic. His lips part ever so slightly. “I’m… I’m not sure I follow.”   
  
The blankness of Ren’s expression, accentuated by the way the shadow crawls on his face to frame it, sets the blood in his veins on fire. His fists clench. A squelching of leather. 

“Don’t act like I’m a fool” he spits. It’s sad and amusing in a sort of sadistic way how Ren, the same person whose eyes betray his emotions like he’s wearing them on a sleeve, would let his indecisiveness be a wall between them. “Did you think I could leave for Paris with no regrets, like this? We had a deal but it seems you’re spineless enough to think that I would forget about it with a party and a tasteless goodbye?”   
  
Ren holds the body of the guitar like it’s something beloved and places it on its stand afoot of his bed. The sight leaves an inexplicable sour taste in his mouth.   
  
“I thought you didn’t like sentimentalisms.”   
  
“I don’t, but this isn’t about that. What I don’t understand is why you sprout nonsense about making the kind of music that is able to move something in people just to show me how weak that conviction is.” He takes a step forward. Ren flinches. “What are your true thoughts about Paris? Do you seriously intend to pursue music, or are your words just for show?”   
  
The slate gaze that looked at him without fail avoids his own and his tongue tastes poison. Ren’s slim fingers clench on the bed sheets as if they’re the only thing able to ground him.    
  
“... I wanted to go to Paris. But with my actual skills getting a scholarship is a feat even I can’t pull off. I don’t have perfect pitch and everything I know about playing a guitar is self-taught.”   
  
He sneers. “So you’re intentioned to give up just because things aren’t the way you wanted?”   
  
Ren’s jaw clenches and a strip of white flashes in between the dark lines of his lips. The look of a liar caught on his biggest fabrication. “My parents wouldn’t pay the tuition even if I begged them on my knees and I can’t let Sōjiro do so even if he offered for it. That’s why I’m gonna start from scratch and make all the possible experience during this year.”   
  
“Then why.” The words tumble out in his most quiet voice, drained of all pretenses. His fist shoots out to grab a hold of Ren’s turtleneck but his eyes refuse to acknowledge him. “If Paris was in your plans ever since the beginning, why didn’t you just say so?”

  
Ren inhales deeply, the softness of it made ominous by their proximity, by the way his shoulders shake so subtly that he would miss it if he blinked a moment too long. His hands prickle from the itch to hit him just to coax a reaction out of him, to unload the irrational frustration at the way their sounds don’t connect. A gaze of steel pierces him like a dagger that is far too sharp for its own good.   
  
“Because, even if practice and experience do pay off, they might not be enough for me to pass the selection.” The bump of Ren’s Adam’s apple bobs in a play of chiaroscuro. “That’s why I wanted things to end quietly. Making you uselessly wait… would be like admitting defeat, to me.”   
  
“ _ He's doing his best not to make you wait, too.”  _ _   
_ _   
_ The urge of laughing tickles the bottom of his stomach and strengthens his hold on Ren like a reflex. It’s utter foolishness and yet not a surprise. He’s been in over his head ever since the first time they played together, like he had no choice but to be swept away by that music made of irrational sentimentality just like the person who wrote it.

"Let me ask you this, Ren. What do you think this...  _ thing _ between us entails? I couldn't care less about "waiting" or whatever you think I shouldn't be doing. What I want to know is. Do you want this?” An invisible hand twists the depths of his chest with a strength that forces the air out of his lungs. He swallows. “The music and… everything else.” 

Ren blinks, his irises silver tinted with the faintest flecks of gold by the ghostly light of the heater. His lips part but a frown falls upon his eyes at the lack of sound coming from them, as if his mouth isn't able to process whatever he's thinking with the same speed of his brain. 

If it had been someone else in front of him, he would have sneered at the lack of eloquence, but he's not a hypocrite. He and Ren are unavoidably and painfully similar, even in the inability of stating what they truly want without the aid of music. But life is not a musical and people simply can't start singing or playing with dramatic emphasis what lies in the depths of their hearts. 

Ren swallows thickly. "I… I think that … " An intake of breath. Sharper than before. Longer than before. "I want to go to Paris, I want to become a pro but…" 

Quicksilver drifts away from his gaze and irregular puffs of air tickle his skin. Another facet. 

_ “As if all the world’s diamonds, that the diamond companies hide in order to keep prices up, had been abruptly dumped out and scattered recklessly all over.” _

The words of Miyajima's book caress his thoughts with new meaningfulness. Under the stage lights Ren might as well be brightness incarnated, the shine of all the world's diamonds. But in front of him, sitting in the dimness of a cold attic as if he’s carrying the weight of the world, he’s an ensemble of crystal-clear emotions, the very same that haunted him on a lonely New Year’s Eve. 

His hand lets go of Ren's shirt and the warmth radiated by the proximity of their bodies fades away like it's never been there to begin with. Silence. A small hole is bored into his chest. 

Going to Paris means dedicating a lifetime to honor the love his mother gifted him with the music that became a part of him. Going to Paris is getting used to the lack of the solid warmth of a body that plays next to him,  _ for _ him, of the sound of his name spoken by a quiet voice, of a hand squeezing his own until it hurts. 

Blood thrums in his ears. “The fear of the unknown has accompanied humankind ever since the beginning of time.” Nails dig in his palms. “But you’re not so spineless to give in to it, aren’t you? You’re the one who pushed me forward by sticking your nose into that damn notebook, so I won’t accept further hesitations.”

Ren’s eyes widen slightly to settle with the firmness of steel on his own. “I want all this. Paris, the music, you. Does that mean anything?”

A pit in his stomach. His hand shoots forward and yanks as an afterthought.

Even in its exceptions, music is made of rigorous math and, just like numbers, holds infinite possibilities. There shouldn’t be any space for impulsiveness and lack of reasoning but, ironically enough, perfection isn’t what people look for. Humans are imperfect beings that strive for perfection but, due to their nature, they are moved by those things that reflect their incompleteness.    
In the past people defined perfect pitch as “God’s ear”. But gods are absolute things in the collective imagination and his music isn’t, because he met Ren, who’s kissing him back in the same unyielding and uncoordinated manner he writes his songs, and his rhythm morphed into something unpredictable, out of every scheme that has been ingrained into his brain.    
  
The sound of their breathing is uneven, they each follow their own tempo, stubborn in their ideas of music. Ren has this… unnerving affection for everything that’s powerful and flashy, sequences of major chords that end in themselves like the hands that fumble to hold his own with too much strength. He presses back with equal strength, slows down the tempo on his lips and plays in a staccato that drinks in the lament of the crates under their weights combined. 

Making music with Ren isn't a smooth process. Rationality and feeling inevitably clash when meeting, in the form of a coat that doesn't want to be shed off, of a belt that gets stuck in the heat of the moment and hearts whose beats follow songs that are similar yet not quite the same. 

In Plato's Symposium he read about the envy and fear the gods held towards humankind's happiness. As they divided humans into two halves to condemn them to an existence of grief in search of what they lost, the concept of soulmates was born. It only got wry laughter out of him, because people definitely aren't made to be something flawless and complete, they just meet each other with the far hope of making things work out without suffering too much. 

Being with Ren and making music are the same. 

Like the ideal and the real, they don't suit each other very well. An unbearable warmth sparks where the naked expanses of their bodies press but the biting cold of winter seeps uncomfortably where they don't fit. What Plato didn't explore is how painful it is when two mismatched pieces collide. Even just the process of smoothing out the rough edges requires hurting each other, prying in fears, feelings and memories and enduring how excruciating it is. 

Being one with Ren hurts. The labor limae of a year can't just erase the parts of them that have been crafted in a whole lifetime. It's only the beginning of it all. And yet the same pain keeps his eyes open, to meet the vivid flame in those that look at him like they've just discovered a secret chord. 

People remember ache more than pleasure, live time differently based on what they're experiencing. The seconds that separate him from dawn share the tempo of the song they're creating. He holds and bites with vicious intent, until he draws his own name from Ren's pale lips like a hallelujah. 

_ And it's not a cry that you hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light. It's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah. _

§

  
  


"Rise and shine, my sweet summer child. Sōjiro's curry's gonna get cold!"

His eyelids weigh like lead. A sliver of light filters through a crack in the comfortable wall of darkness of his blanket to ignite a splitting headache. In other occasions Futaba's perky voice would have been a surprising yet pleasant alarm but all his brain needs is a shutdown of the approximate duration of the ice age. 

"... go away. Lemme sleep." 

Silence. Quick steps on the wooden floor and the comforter is lifted in a single swift gesture to leave him prey of the pale light and bone-freezing chill of February's early morning. He forces his body in a sitting position but a burning ache in his lower backs laments its discomfort. 

Futaba ogles him with a blank expression and takes in a deep breath. "Oh God. You did the do, you sappy masochist." 

Words tumble out of his mouth without thinking. "Wait, how did you–" 

"Please," she scoffs with a smirk, "after years of reading BL you learn to recognize certain stuff." 

_ Which is kind of an ominous statement in itself if this is the knowledge it gifts you with. _

Futaba adjusts her glasses on the bridge of her nose and smugness seeps into her smile. He's in the devil's clutches. "But I guess that huge bite mark between your neck and shoulder kind of gives you away." 

A jolt shakes him and his gaze scrambles for the incriminating piece of evidence only to further increase his headache. 

"So Goro's a biter, huh…" Futaba mumbles. Her fingers deftly type something on her smartphone. "Well, I texted Ann. She'll bring us something to cover it up after school."

Eyes of a sanguine hue above flushed cheeks, white teeth that sink into his skin with a feral smile. Heat scorches his face. "Please, have mercy." 

"Don't worry, I won't tell Sōjiro your boyfriend's a freaking vampire." An honest smile. "Just let me do a little something." 

With eager steps, Futaba partially descends the creaking stairs and scrunches her face in a very convincing worried expression. "Daaad, Ren's come down with a fever!" 

From downstairs Sōjiro's voice grumbles something unintelligible that paints a satisfied smile on her face. 

"Got it, I'll take care of him!" 

Futaba turns around and trots towards his bed to plop onto it in the most unceremonious manner. The crates creak. Despite the devilish nature of her actions, her eyes are unwavering in the way they stare at him like he's a complicated puzzle she's determined to solve. A small hand moves forward and sinks into his hair with surprising warmth. 

"Not long after mom died, someone unconventionally wise told me there's nothing wrong with taking a day off when your heart's a wreck." 

His jaw drops but his lips can't fight back the smile that presses to emerge. "So you  _ do  _ listen to what I say."

"Sometimes.” Playfulness colors her voice but the hand that slowly ruffles his hair is very gentle. A hint of wistfulness tinges her gaze. “How do you feel?”   
  
“Like I was hit by a moving truck multiple times, thank you.”   
  
“Understandable, have a nice day” Futaba says on auto-pilot. She shakes her head in a vigorous gesture and his chest is flooded by the same warmth of the palm caressing his head. He’s a lucky person. “Do you want to talk about it?”   
  
He lets out a sigh. There’s no lesson without pain, but that same pain can be turned into something beautiful. “No, I want to play about it.”   
  
“Good”, she smirks. “Sōjiro leaves in an hour and will be outside Tokyo until late in the evening. I’ll go get my keyboard as soon as he goes away, so be a good patient.”   
  
A fake cough. “I’m too sick to go downstairs. Will you get the curry for your big bro?”   
  
“Creepy.”

  
  
_ Wait for me. I’ll definitely reach you, someday. _ _   
  
_

_ § _

The bright light of the morning casts a shine on the polished wooden floor of the corridor and paints of the delicate green of the trees peeking out of the window on the pristine wall. It’s a delightful day to get lost between closed walls, when people have yet to fill them with the noises of everyday life.   
He isn’t a fatalist in the slightest, so things like fate really don’t hold any meaning to him, but among the many weird beliefs he built for himself during the course of time and especially in the past year, there’s the conviction that something can be learned from everything that happens. Which might also just be an artsy way, as Futaba likes to say in her usual gremlin way, to face more or less serious inconveniencies without giving in to the urge of running away from feelings and decisions alike.

A fundamental thing he discovered in that inconvenience called “solo practice” is that, in music, even silence holds deep importance, which is why pauses are not meant to be skipped or shortened in any way. Silence is what makes the climax in a piece its emotional peak, like that moment of quiet before the dam that keeps the feelings bottled breaks and lets everything flow out. 

_ "... left behind…. everything… _ _ ” _

A faint voice echoes in the empty hallway. Silence, all things considered, is also a means of gathering thoughts, because, when faced with a pause, he’s forced to see how far he has come, with a butchered score of scribbled and erased notes as a testimony of the journey.

“ ... _ wound in my heart... it would bleed endlessly… _ ”

The voice escapes from a small room in a dead-end corridor, becomes clearer with each step and has the blood in his veins boil with the need of embracing his guitar. Life is far from being a sequence of dramatic scenes but that’s also what makes their happening so exciting.   
  
“ _ Rainy, sunny, cloudy, all four seasons, every single day and there’s a piece of you in each of them. _ ”   
  
A young man in dark jeans and a simple white t-shirt partially faces the vast sight of Paris’ gothic buildings with his leather-clad hands clenching the base of a window. In the bright light of April’s morning his eyes shine of a bloody red hue but his expression is serene.    
  
His shoulder presses against the wooden frame of the door. His eyes close with a smile. “That was very good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so it has come to an end. I worked on this story for almost a whole year (which is kind of reflected in the 40k words/122 GDocs pages of story) and I personally feel really accomplished, because I didn't think I would have been able to make it THIS FAR (it's actually the first time I get to complete a longfic). I really gave it my all and I am at peace.
> 
> And now, on to the songs:
> 
> \- Wish you Were Here - Pink Floyd (ft. Stéphane Grappelli)  
> \- Love Will Tear Us Apart - Joy Division  
> \- Hallelujah - Jeff Buckley (the original is Leonard Cohen's, but I personally enjoy this version a lot more)  
> \- Before I Forget - Slipknot (this is the song that plays when Futaba videocalls Goro, needless to say, it's a prank)
> 
> If you came this far and read this whole wall of text... thank you, for sticking with this project until the end.
> 
> If you want to call me an "idiot sandwich" you can find me on Twitter as @discqualia

**Author's Note:**

> Come call me an idiot sandwich. I'm @discqualia on Twitter.


End file.
